Reading Between the Lines
by retkula
Summary: What is it, really, with Hermione and "Hogwarts, A History"? The book can't really be so interesting, can it now? Unless there's something to read between the lines. RHr and some literary suspense.
1. Footnotes and Marginalia

disclaimer: I am hereby proclaiming the widely known fact of me not owning the works of J.K. Rowling.

a/n: I was going to continue with _The Secrets_-fic, but somehow, this just popped up. (It doesn't mean I wouldn't finish The Secrets, this just came in the way, now) It's something I thought of while writing _No Means to Use the Stove_, but the idea didn't really fit into that plot line. I could have made it an Anna-tale, but then I thought of Hermione and _Hogwarts, A History_ and I couldn't resist. It's also a R/Hr –fic, as the pair of them just fits so nicely into this particular concept. This won't be a long fic; at first I thought to make it only a one shot, then it seemed to get two or maybe three chapters long, and now I guess it'll be 7-9 chapters. Just a bit of fluff and angst and pondering on a certain book.

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**Footnotes and Marginalia**

Sighing, she reached for her favourite book, _Hogwarts, A History._ On contrary of the beliefs Harry and especially – she smiled a little sadly at the thought – Ron held, the book hadn't always been her favourite one. When she had first read it, at the age of eleven, she had found it fascinating almost merely for its subject. The book itself wasn't very alluring: its language was complex, its sentences endless and itscontent unquestionably and unflinchingly pertinent.

Regardless of the book's qualities for which anyone else would have labeled it simply _deadly boring_, Hermione had again and again attacked the unapproachable source of knowledge over her school. At first it had been because she was nervous; she was eleven, for Heaven's sake, and not only moving away from home, but also away from her world, to an unknown reality.

_Hogwarts, A History_ had, in all its boringness, given her security and made her feel safe. Unlike the nice, approachable leaflets with their moving wizarding pictures and easily understandable contexts that had been sent to her and her parents, the brick of a book had felt _real _and _solid_; its complexity being only an extra evidence of its accuracy and authority. Surely, with the knowledge a book like that could offer, she would be ready to tackle this whole new universe!

When she had arrived at Hogwarts, she had been overwhelmed. Not only by all the wonders she had expected but hadn't really been able to imagine, but also by the students: children her age that had lived with magic all their lives. Against her expectations, she had been placed in Gryffindor and had suddenly been surrounded by vivacious and loud crowd very unlike herself. The other Muggle-borns had been just as outgoing as the children with wizarding heritage – how was that possible, she couldn't understand.

She had been so nervous herself, and so hesitant over maybe not being able to adjust to magic and to her House, that she had resorted to her familiar and safe strategy of defence: she had started to show off. She did _have _something to show off, after all. She had been astonished but secretly pleased to notice that not even the pureblood students had read all their schoolbooks in advance – and nobody had read _Hogwarts, A History_. So, Hermione Granger had, once again, been in the position she had gotten very familiar with since her early childhood: she knew more than her peers.

It didn't console her much, though. Having no friends hadn't been so bad in her previous school, as she had still had her older cousins that lived nearby and she could talk about anything with her parents, who were proud to treat their clever and mature firstborn like an equal. At Hogwarts, there were no-one she could go to after the classes. Only the same indifferent, uninterested or plain rude classmates whose conduct she suffered during the day.

Those first, lonely weeks at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been the second time she had drowned herself into the endlessly ennuing contexts of _Hogwarts, A History._ The more often she read the book, the more bits of interesting information she could dig out of its pages. The author of the book had seemingly meant only the most intrigued people to find out anything special: all the truly fascinating information was buried in the footnotes or hidden in the unbelievably long paragraphs about the composition of the mortar in the wall of the third corridor of the left wing. It really wasn't a miracle that any other students hadn't gotten acquainted with Hermione's choice of comfort reading.

The fact that only she had read the book increased the amount of comfort it offered her. Maybe it was a bitter comfort, though: a _when I'm so different that no-one wants to be with me, I'll be even more different from them!_ – kind of comfort. The fact that she suspected no other eleven-year-old even _could_ read the book with all its Old English vocabulary (when she had first tried to read it, she had had to check every third word up in her concise dictionary of English and every fourth one in _The Encyclopedia Maciga_, and half of the times she couldn't even guess which reference book she should consult first) and ambiguous sentence-structure, only made it still more consoling.

Ever since those first weeks at Hogwarts, she had sought comfort from _Hogwarts, A History_ when ever she had been feeling down. Still, the book hadn't been her favourite. Her favourite books were the ones that carried a different kind of magic; the ones that made her cry or laugh aloud; the ones she could almost forget weren't true; the ones whose characters she could imagine meeting the next day, not remembering they weren't real people. Yes, Hermione Granger loved knowledge, but even more she loved stories. She would more often read for information than for pleasure, and she could draw out interesting details, even from_ Hogwarts, A History,_ but fascinating knowledge alone didn't make a book her favourite.

Still, as she now reached for _Hogwarts, A History_, after another row with ever so thick-headed Ron Weasley, she recognized the book as her favourite. When had that happened and how?

It had been quite simple, really. One day during her sixth year, she had just learnt what it meant to be able to read between the lines.

_She was left alone in the Sixth year girls' dormitory when Lavender and Parvati giggling disappeared down the stairs to spend the evening with their respective boyfriends. Hermione sighed and tried to concentrate on her Transfiguration essay, but somehow it wasn't as easy as usually. She couldn't help feeling...inadequate in some way. _

_No, she didn't want to be like Parvati or Lavender, their heads filled with only boys and glamour-spells, but she couldn't help wondering if there was something amiss with her, when no boys ever asked her to Hogsmeade – or even on study dates, which would have been quite an easy way to get to spend some time alone with her. Had she been a boy interested in herself, she would have asked her help with a Transfiguration essay, for example, and thus gotten her separated from Harry and Ron and thus gotten an opportunity to get to know her better and thus... But as no boy had asked her, it probably meant no boy was interested in her. _

_No-one after Viktor, that is, and even that was one lousy ball two years ago, and he probably just had a very peculiar taste when it came to girls. He wasn't an usual person otherwise either, so that was highly predictable. He had been an exception that confirmed the rule of no boys ever asking Hermione Granger out._

_It was no big deal, she said to herself. She was only sixteen years old, she had time for boyfriends and things like that later. There were so many other, more important matters to occupy oneself with at the moment. NEWTs were only a year away and more importantly, there was Voldemort to think about. Not even to mention the fact that no matter how nice it would have been if someone had asked her to Hogsmeade, she knew too damn well there was really only one single boy she would have wanted to go with – and he was the one she was going with in any case. Only just as friends and with Harry along._

_Boys just found her intimidating, she told herself, as her mother had told her the previous summer. Boys found her intimidating because of her intelligence and because she was so strong-minded and so powerful a witch and because her best friends were boys and she didn't go about giggling with other girls and flirting with boys. They would come around later, when they were more mature, (maybe Viktor had just been mature instead of an exception of the rule?) and then they would appreciate her for exactly the same reasons for which they now felt wary of her ._

_Nevermind what she told herself, the one thing raising on the foreground of her mind was the creeping suspicion that maybe there would never come a time when boys and especially the one boy would consider her as someone to take on a date. Maybe there really was something amiss with her. Maybe she just wasn't pretty enough. Maybe she couldn't really act like a girl. Hermione sighed and felt tears pricking in her eyes._

_Wallowing in self-pity over something so frivolous was somehow consoling. In a way, it was almost comforting to be worrying about something so...**normal** instead of Dark Marks and Death Eaters. Admittedly, there hadn't yet been much signs of the Dark activity this year. It was like Voldemort was lying low for the moment, probably only for **a** moment, but lying low, anyhow. And as he was, Hermione could worry over less important, normal things. Sighing, partly for annoyance and partly for weird contentment, she reached her hand for her choice of comfort reading, **Hogwarts**_**, _A History_.**

_Absentmindedly, she leafed through the pages, until she came across a familiar chapter. It was one dealing with the overall layout of the castle and she had read it anew just a couple of weeks ago. That was when she had discovered some interesting information buried in the footnotes. Hermione set herself into search for the particular footnotes, but for her utmost surprise, she couldn't find them!_

_It wasn't like there weren't any footnotes at all, they were there alright, but they weren't the same ones as before! As she was staring at the page, something in the tiny little wizarding photograph in the corner of the page suddenly moved. The photographs in **Hogwarts, A History** very seldom moved much, as they were mostly of originally still objects or then of some so old and stiff wizards and witches that they didn't bother to move in their pictures. But this picture, a portrait of Orion Grubbly, who was introduced as the magical masonry master of the corridors of Hogwarts, had suddenly, not only moved, but actually **smiled**! And smiled at Hermione. Then he winked and pointed at the bottom of the page._

_Hermione let her eyes follow the potrait's finger and found that a completely new footnote had appeared under the text._

Hermione grinned fondly at Mr. Grubbly when remembering the first time he had smiled at her. At the time, the new footnote had only stated: _As the masonry master of all the corridors of Hogwarts, Mr. Orion Grubbly certainly knows every little secret passage in the whole school. Maybe the reader would like to know more about them?_

Over time, there had first been more footnotes from Mr. Grubbly, each written with a lighter style and more mischief than the previous ones. Then, several of the other pictures had started to move, too. Every one of them had their own style when addressing her and they all had different secrets and intriguing gossip to engage her in. It was almost like the photographs and portraits would have liked to compensate the author's poor sense of drama and rebel against his editing the school's history in a way that left out all the juicy details. Or maybe it was the author himself that only believed people weren't worthy of knowing those details unless they had properly proved themselves to be interested in the tedious facts, too. Well, Hermione certainly had, and nevermind (although she naturally did, she was a curious person, after all) which was the case, she was now trusted with the true secrets of _Hogwarts, A History._

After a couple of months, Hermione never knew what to expect when she opened the book Some parts of it never changed, naturally. All the tedious details and figures were there to stay as was the most noteworthy information. Only there was so much more.

More often than once, Hermione had been the object of many extremely curious and wondering eyes, as she had laughed aloud or blushed scarlet when sitting in the Common Room reading the book easily winning the competition for the most boring volume in the world. Well, if they had known that for Hermione, the book in question had, for example, and in a detailed manner, listed all the great scandals concerning the school's teachers' sexual behaviour since 896 A.D, they would maybe have looked at her even more baffled. After all, it _was_ a well known fact that the Head Girl of Hogwarts wasn't amused by such things.

At the moment, Hermione was sitting in her usual place in the Common Room. The fire was blazing in the fireplace and the Common Room was almost deserted. Harry was somewhere with Ginny, as they started dating a few months earlier, and Ron...Ron was somewhere with somebody, too. She didn't want to know whom. _That_ had been the reason for their earlier fight. No, not the fact he was seeing someone, although that didn't really make her happy either, but that she didn't want to know who it was.

Over the last year, Ron had developed an overly-annoying and downright _insulting_ habit of always introducing all his current love-interests to Hermione and then wishing for her opinion and acceptance of them. As if meeting her was some kind of procedure required before a girl could be deemed worthy of dating one Ronald Bilius Weasley! She was sick of it. She was sick of being seen as a big sister or a surrogate-Mum or a best mate with some convenient female instincts! Especially as most of the girls Ron brought to her were just using him to test-drive their newly acquired womanly powers. Or that was how Hermione saw it.

The Great Council of the Real Teenage Girls of the Castle of Hogwarts (an association Hermione hadn't gotten an invitation to join) had recently deemed Ronald Weasley _cute_. When in addition to that, it had been found that he only blushed and stuttered whenever an attractive girl tried to flirt with him, he was, indeed, an easy prey for the young women in need of practise.

Every other week some _Hufflepuff_ or _Ravenclaw_ would come with their eyes all large and shining and chirp out: _Oh, Ron, would you come with me to Hogwarts / library / walk around the lake. I would so love it if you would! _Yes, they didn't even know the proper use of conditional, for Heaven's sake! And Ron's ears would blush scarlet and he would mumble something incoherent as if it was totally unexpected that someone could be interested in him. Honestly, one would think he would realize after three of those missies that he actually _was _quite attractive! Not to mention that someone much nearer to him had thought so for quite a long time already.

And under-estimating oneself certainly wasn't a good enough reason to actually go on dates with those girls! Well, at least Hermione hoped that was the reason Ron went. He couldn't really _like_ any of those girls, could he now? Those girls that would get jealous over _her_ and Ron's other female _friends_! Honestly, who in their right mind would do that! Everybody had the right to have friends! (Here, Hermione conveniently forgot she was Ron's _only _real female friend as well as the fact that the girls really _had_ something to get jealous about, at least if it was her feelings that counted.) Ron couldn't have liked any of them! Not when they dumped him by letting their friends come and tell him, or sending a note via owl-post! A _Gryffindor_ would never had done that! (At least not a Gryffindor like herself.)

No, Ron couldn't have liked any of them. But maybe he liked the one he was now somewhere with.

Hermione sighed and leafed through _Hogwarts, A History_. Actually, she wasn't so much leafing as making herself believe she was acting randomly while in reality searching for one particular photogarph of one particular witch. She had presented some pretty useful information earlier and even though Hermione knew all problems couldn't be solved in the library or with a book, she wasn't in the library at the moment, and _Hogwarts, A History _wasn't just any book.

It was a book with a lot of lines to read between.

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There. Hope you enjoyed it. Comments of all sorts are very welcome.


	2. Portraits and Paragraphs

**a/n: **Oh dear, I'm back! Finally, after an unbelievably busy spring and an almost equally busy June. At the moment I'm sick, but that seems to only bring me new ideas. This fic was going to end already, but I couldn't find a way for it to do so in an interesting way. Now I decided to combine the reading between the lines-thought with another,a bit similar idea. Please, tell me how you like it!

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**Portraits and Paragraphs**

She had never been very good at deceiving herself. Maybe it had something to do with her logical skills. It was like there were two Hermione Grangers: the first a normal schoolgirl with occasionally silly ideas, insecurities and realistic as well as unrealistic hopes and dreams – and the other, with an almost cruelly logical and a scary amount of detached observance. And at the very moment, the cool, ordered part of her was silently watching how the insecure schoolgirl pretended to be only leafing through _Hogwarts, a History._ However, due to her self-knowledge, both Hermione Grangers knew there was nothing random in her current interest in the book.

She was looking for something particular. _Someone _particular, to be exact. Someone, who had always, always before been in the plain sight on the page 346, smiling her small, self-satisfied smile and watching Hermione just a little bit too keenly. If she had always been so keen before, why wasn't she now, when she was truly needed?

Sure, she had dropped those little infuriating hints earlier, teasing Hermione, practically _haunting _her, for God's sake! _Is the reader needing some advice with her love-life? Doesn't her Prince Charming notice her? Would the reader like some help with the matters of the heart? You know, there's only so much knowledge one can gather during what...sixteen, seventeen years? Me, I have over five hundreds years of experience on me. Wouldn't the kind reader like to benefit from my expertise?_ Was the fact that she had always before stiffly declined any of the picture's information really a justified reason to play hard-to-get now? Page 346, no self-satisfied smile. Page 347, no advices on love. Page 345, nothing of the sort. Damn! Damn! Damn!

Frustrated, Hermione slammed the book shut. It was silly, really, to seek any advice on _this_ from a five-hundred years old picture in an old mouldy book. The logical part of her calmly noted that she was perfectly happy to seek knowledge on everything else in mouldy books, but for once, she ignored her very own voice of reason.

There was really nothing she could do about the situation, anyway, never mind how great advice she got. And he was only an infatuation, it wasn't going to last. He would find someone, and eventually, she would find someone, and they would both be happy and remain friends like only those can, that have shared the precious experience of growing up in turbulent times. And she was perfectly happy with that. Honestly.

Her inner voice sounded melodramatic and false even in her own mental ears, but she still experienced satisfaction over the conclusion she had reached. Hermione was just preparing herself to feel comfortingly sorry for herself, when the portrait hole opened and the very person who had held the leading role in her pondering entered. And he was whistling. As if his big, clumsy feet alone didn't wake up the whole tower! No, he had to whistle, and on a school night, too! At this hour, any decent person would have been asleep, or at least studying, not frolicking around and whistling. She almost opened her mouth to reprimand him for his behaviour, when she remembered not only that it wasn't even curfew yet and Harry and Ginny hadn't returned either, but also that she wasn't on speaking terms with the said whistler.

Only a second later, the realization about _why_ was he whistling so merrily reached her, and then she couldn't have spoken even if she had wanted to. She was too hurt. How could that mysterious (why hadn't she let him introduce her – then she would have known who she was, at least?), hateful _girl _had made him so happy that he didn't even feel bad about the fight with his best friend? He always felt bad after fighting with her. _She_ always felt bad after their fights, it was only common decency that he should, too! Only that _gir_l had stolen her the right to see Ron miserable as he should be.

Images of how the mysterious female had come through with it aroused in her mind and she couldn't avoid them.

She didn't want to look at him. She was certain there would be that goofy grin on his face and that his hair would be tousled and his lips swollen from _her _kisses. Maybe there would even be lipstick on his collar – never mind that the girls in Hogwarts didn't use Muggle methods of make-up, still she could imagine him as an adulterer of any of the romance novels she had devoured in the summer, in the secrecy of her own room. An adulterer, yes, and for the second time in the same evening, Hermione Granger didn't let her logical part interfere with her feelings. It didn't matter that she and Ron weren't together – it only mattered that they should have been!

He didn't even look at her. Or, well, he glanced at her and nodded, but it was all the same, as if he hadn't noticed her. Of course he didn't, with his head full of that _girl_! (Surely a Hufflepuff, no question about it!) He _ignored_ her and carried on with the infuriating whistling and disappeared in the Seventh Years boys' dormitory and she was left alone in the Common Room. The moment Ron had closed the door after him, Hermione opened the book anew and searched in determination. Page 107, page 108, page 109, page 218, page 297, page 386 – aha!

She almost shouted aloud and draw her wand, casting a binding spell on the page. Keeping the picture at her wand point – some silent voice in the back of her mind whispering that had anyone seen her, they would probably had alerted Madame Pomfrey – she muttered through her teeth: "There you are! Now, let's hear your excellent advice on love!" She knew the picture probably couldn't hear her, maybe it couldn't even see her, it was just spelled to recognise each of its readers and to know when it was looked at. Still, it felt enormously fulfilling when, as if answering her threats, the text under the picture shifted and shimmered and new words appeared.

_"Oh, now you wish to read my advice?"_

"Yes!"

_"Love has finally conquered you, hasn't it?" _The witch in the portrait smiled, evil smile, Hermione thought, and flicked her hair. She wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense of the word. She was at least forty, her teeth were somewhat uneven and her chin was more than slightly doubled. Still, she possessed a sort of...allure. It was in the way she smiled, the way she looked at Hermione, the silent demand of attention she held and the clearly visible certainty that told she truly believed she had rightfully deserved every bit of the attention she was given. Hermione didn't bother to answer. One so keen on taunting the others would surely speak even without provocation. She was right. Only after a couple of minutes, the words under the picture shifted again.

"_Oh, yes...I know a lot about love. The men that I have had, in my time...but you are certainly too innocent to hear about those, aren't you now?"_

Hermione harrumped and moved her hand as if she was going to close the book. The witch in the picture apparently felt the movement and hurriedly, the words changed again:

_"Now, now...don't you be so hasty! I merely assumed. You have been shutting me up quite a many times, haven't you? Not interested in love, not in need of an advice, embarrassedby your own emotions...Ravenclaw, aren't you? No...Gryffindor, definitely Gryffindor. Only those with a lion's courage in battle can be so timid when confronting their own feelings."_ The witch smiled again, now with an irritating condescending superiority. Hermione wanted to shut the book for real this time, but she had to control herself – if not for any other reason than the accuracy of the witch's description.

_"Well, well, my Gryffindor friend. You happen to be very lucky, indeed. As I am only a portrait," _here she made a gesture that clearly stated she wasn't to be considered _only _anything, "_I am unable to truly converse with you. However, as you are a Gryffindor, you are blessed with a fortune. Amongst your own, there is someone who can help you. Someone wiser, someone older, someone with silent observational skills and a lot of knowledgein the matters of the heart."_

For once, Hermione's logic failed her. She just couldn't think about anyone the portrait could be talking about. Surely nobody would spill their heart's secrets to Professor McGonagall? She could just imagine how that would end. Hermione shivered at the thought. If the Professor didn't get all severe and deduct points, she would probably offer some advice along the lines of: "You just have to tell him how you feel" or something equally straightforward and useless.

Madame Pomfrey could maybe treat love as an illness. Maybe there was a potion that could remove love? Professor Snape would surely volunteer to prepare one. But hadn't Madame Pomfrey been a Hufflepuff and Professor Snape a Slytherin?

Someone older and wiser...if the portrait had been wasting her time talking about some ghost, she really was going to rip out the page, never mind it being in her favourite book! Ghosts were always irritatingly attached to their own age and to their own life, they hardly noticed their environment. _Even_ if the ghost in question was Nearly-Headless-Nick, who probably would have loved to listen to her sorrows, he couldn't possibly have helped one bit.

Without realizing it, Hermione had stayed in her place, staring at the portrait. Suddenly, she stirred and saw the new words under it:

_"Really, my child, you are not a Ravenclaw! Have you really not guessed yet? I am naturally talking about the precious guardian of the lions' cave, dearest Primrose.Give her my love, will you, dear? Good luck, and remember: Omnia Vincit Amor!"_ The witch in the picture laughed, showing her uneven teeth without shame, and left the picture. Hermione tried to catch her, but it was too late. Apparently, her binding spell had only glued the picture on its page, not the witch in the picture. Little bit like the Fat Lady, she could leave her frames when she wanted to...

The Fat Lady! It had to be her! _Guardian of the lions' cave!_ But how could the portrait of a giggling, overweight witch who got tipsy on chocolate liqueurs at Christmas help her? There was no way that she was going to sink as low as to ask her!

The witch in the portrait had looked quite intelligent, though. Maybe her opinion shouldn't be so easily overlooked? Maybe there was more to the Fat Lady than what met the eye...but no! No! There was no way she was going to ask the _Fat Lady_ for help! Shemight as well ask Parvati and Lavender, for Heaven's sake!

Hermione Granger collected _Hogwarts, a History_ under her arm and climbed the stairs to her Head Girl room, determined that she would never, ever seek advice from an portrait again.

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a/n: I just had to finish it there. That was the cut for the next scene, you see? But as if you didn't guess how it'll continue already, there's some foretaste of the next chapter:

_"No, no, no, dearie. There's simply no way I could help you." The Fat Lady shook her head so energetically that her curls bounced around her chubby face and the pink bow on the top of her head diddered vigorously. At the same time, though, her eyes danced with excitement and she reached for a quill and a piece of parchment as she loudly exclaimed: "I have given up that business, totally given it up, dearie! The Headmaster doesn't approve, you see. And I would never, ever confront the Headmaster, never!" As she spoke, she hurriedly scribbled something on the parchment and then gestured apologetically with her hands: "I really can't help you, dearie. I'm terribly sorry." While gesturing, she skillfully aimed at Hermione and a crumpled piece of parchment fell straight into the pocket of her robe. "So terribly sorry!"_

**Please tell me how you found it! I very much appreciate also negative feedback. I'm an adult, I can take it ;)**


	3. The Fat Lady with a Cloak and a Dagger

Hello, there! I guess nobody remembers this fic any more, as even I hardly did, but here's the next chapter, anyhow. Hopefully somebody will read it...

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_Hermione Granger collected _Hogwarts, a History_ under her arm and climbed the stairs to her Head Girl room, determined that she would never, ever seek advice from an portrait._

**The Fat Lady with a cloak and a dagger**

Her resolution lasted for exactly three days. Or really not even for so long. It took three days before she _did_ something, but she had known right away, in the morning after her decision, that she would eventually renounce. She had known it, but to maintain even a slight illusion of actually following her own decisions and sticking to her own principles, she had waited until after two and a half more days.

Two and a half more days, which she had fruitfully used convincing herself that she was only going to ask the Fat Lady's advice because of intellectual curiosity and academic interest. In the sense of the Fat Lady being a wizarding portrait of a historical person, probably even a historical person with some importance, as they had painted her portrait and hung it on Hogwart's wall, it was really much easier to use that argument than if she had been forced to talk to Lavender or Parvati.

There was nothing similar in asking her roommates' advice and in asking the Fat Lady's. Nothing whatsoever.

Hermione sighed. She was certainly the only person in the world who had to keep up appearances for _herself's sake!_ She _knew_ what it was all about! She _knew_ what she wanted and why! She _knew_! And still she continuously wove together these ridiculous excuses – not to deceive others, no, but to deceive herself – _even though she knew already!_

Why was it such a horrifying idea to act like a teenaged girl in love – when you happened to_ be_ a teenaged girl in love, Hermione scolded herself. If she didn't act like one now, when would she then? When she'd be thirty-five? Wouldn't it be slightly more ridiculous then?

Ridiculous. That was the horrifying word. Or one of them. Ridiculous. Rejected. Failure. She didn't want to be ridiculed. She was the one who ridiculed others. Even when she didn't mean to. She wasn't cruel, no, she didn't laugh when Neville tripped and fell down the stairs or when Ron managed to make another impossible mistake in Transfiguration, but she couldn't help sighing or sniffing aloud when Lavender gushed about the wonders of Divination or Luna rattled on about non-existent beasts – or when girls giggled about boys and did all kinds of insane things to attract them.

She honestly couldn't help it! Somehow her nose just did that wrinkly thing and she almost snorted, but not really, and nearly sighed, but not exactly, and all but rolled her eyes, but not just. That was who she was: Hermione Granger, the sensible witch with no toleration to follies, stupidities or ignorance.

Except that now she was contemplating a folly herself, and not even a normal folly, but a girly, giggling kind of folly. The kind of folly one really should contemplate with one's best girlfriend and whisper about it and titter and blush vigorously in the corridors when the certain someone passed by.

Instead, she was all alone, having no actual _girl_ girlfriends. Or, well, supposedly she had Ginny, but as she had never shared any girl-talk with her, it was quite awkward to start now. And therefore she had to walk the corridors without a girlfriend but _with_ the certain someone and she couldn't giggle or blush without him believing she had accidentally swallowed a generous helping of some strange potion.

Sometimes it was hard to be Hermione Granger, the one and only wholly sensible teenaged witch in the castle of Hogwarts. It was hard to risk laying herself at the mercy of others' ridicule, when they would without a question laugh so much harder because it was _her_, and not some silly...Hufflepuff. Worse still was the fact thatshe herself certainly wasn't used to regard her own actions with derision.

As if the ridicule itself wasn't a threat big enough, there were Rejection and therefore, Failure, that also loomed in the horizon of this folly she was contemplating. If she was to ask the Fat Lady for help in her love life, and if she was to follow her advice, it would mean she would actually end up _doing _something about her feelings for Ron. _And_ if she did something, she would risk his Rejection.

This far, she had succeededat hiding her feelings and therefore keeping them safe. No risk of Rejection if you never reveal your attraction. Rule number one in her book. One can dream and imagine all kinds of scenarios where _he_ would tell about his feelings – and even then she would only laugh at first, just in case it had been a joke – and she would only have to accept.

Unfortunately, somewhere after the events in the romance novels she liked to read (secretly, mind you, as reading them was a bit _frivolous_, in her opinion) had taken place, someone (probably a Hufflepuff) had changed the rules. Now one couldn't be a passively accepting fair lady anymore. Even if you lived in a castle and had to wear very proper robes, no noble knights would come to woo you. Instead, it was almost expected that you yourself wooed the said knights. Especially if you were a bit intimidating and usually self-confident, and everybody thought you always had the courage to do and say what ever you wanted to, whenever you wanted to and to whomever you wanted to.

Hermione sighed. This frustrating battling over it all wasn't going to help any. How was she supposed to be ready to face Voldemort or help Harry, if she couldn't even face her own ridicule over herself? She had to learn to laugh at herself. She had to learn to give herself permission to do stupidities – at least meaningless, small stupidities.

Logically, it could even work as a prevention: there was probably some decided amount of mistakes each and every person had to make during their life, and if she made small stupidities, she could be saved from making the big ones. And contemplating the small, trivial things and how they could go wrong, she at leastwouldn't have todread the big and important ones and the much more fatal ways they could go wrong.

Hermione Granger's patented way to conquer stress and fear and war-time angst: to drown oneself in follies and romantic problems. She snorted at the thought. It was the truth, but that didn't make it sound any more believable.

Anyhow, she didn't even try to deceive herself anymore. She knew very well that she was going to talk to the Fat Lady. She could take her own ridicule. After all, she was Slytherin enough to hide her actions from the others and thusavoid theirs. She would approach the portrait during dinner, when everybody would be in the Great Hall stuffing themselves. Normally, Ron would come to see what was the matter if she didn't come to eat, but luckily, they still weren't really speaking.

Even though their continuing argument was profitable to her plan, she couldn't help feeling cold and lonely. Naturally, Ron couldn't take care of her anymore, or wouldn't. He had a girlfriend to take care of, now. Hermione didn't know for sure if Ron had met the girl (_the Hufflepuff_, as she had named her in her mind) after that evening three nights ago, but she imagined he had. She almost _liked_ to torture herself with the images of them together. It gave her a reason to be miserable and she needed her misery to go through with her plan.

And she did have a plan. Oh, yes,did she havea plan. It was only a little chat with the Fat Lady, something which wasn't illegal, dangerous or even against the rules, but she had planned it carefully. For once, the boys weren't there making rash decisions and the life-or-death circumstances weren't demanding recklessness. So she had had time to get ready. She had prepared several different excuses for missing dinner or getting caught when talking to the Fat Lady. She had even made distinctions between the different people who might demand her explanation. A good strategist used various lies for various opponents: Harry – got to check something in the library, Ron – none of your business, not hungry, Ginny – trying to lose a bit of weight, Professor McGonagall – that time of the month, feeling a bit nauseous...

It was almost a disappointment, when nobody asked why she wasn't coming to dinner and the corridor leading to the Gryffindor Tower was totally empty. A bit of cloak and dagger-activity would at least have distracted her from what she was about to do.

"Yes, dearie? The password?"

Hermione jumped at the Fat Lady's voice. Apparently she had stood in front of the painting for some time, already. "Eh...well..."

"You _must_ know the password, dearie.You aren't the one to usually forget anything. Trouble with boys, is it?" The Fat Lady smiled down at her in a way that normally would have irritated Hermione enormously. Now, she just felt more nervous.

"Actually...you see..." How should she address her? _Fat Lady _didn't sound very polite and she couldn't just call her _"Primrose",_ either. Hermione cursed in her mind (she did that quite often, even though she really didn't like anybody cursing aloud): why had she used valuable time making up useless excuses when she should have searched _Hogwarts, a History_ for thorough information on the Fat Lady, including the Lady's full name. Finally, she settled with "ma'am" and drew a breath to begin.

"Oh, you do have boy-troubles, my dear! How delightful! And imagine how I still remember the time you first came here. How time flies..."

"Ma'am...yes, actually, yes...I _do_ have a problem concerning a certain...boy." She knew she was blushing and the Lady's enthusiastic giggles weren't helping any.

"Well, congratulations, my dear! Young love is always so romantic. But I'm afraid I still cannot let you in without the password."

"It's not...look, ma'am, I _know_ the password..."

"Why don't you say it, then?" Now she was getting Hermione frustrated instead of just nervous. She felt like screaming but as that probably wouldn't persuade the Lady to help her, she only started to speak so fast the portrait couldn't interrupt her anymore:

"Well, as I do have these problems with this boy and he doesn't really see I'm ..well, _datable, _I guess, and I was reading _Hogwarts, a History_, and I came across with this witch, Melasina Charmeuse was her name, and she recommended that I should talk to you, as you, according to her, really know about these things and could maybe give me some advice and so I was wondering if you maybe could." Hermione stopped there, out of breath after her long rant, and looked anxiously at the Fat Lady.

The Fat Lady's whole demeanour suddenly changed drastically. She glanced hurriedly at the other portraits and started to speak very loudly: "No, no, no, dearie. There's simply no way I could help you." She shook her head so energetically that her curls bounced around her chubby face and the pink bow on the top of her head diddered vigorously. At the same time, though, her eyes danced with excitement and she reached for a quill and a piece of parchment as she loudly exclaimed: "I have given up that business, totally given it up, dearie! The Headmaster doesn't approve, you see. And I would never, ever confront the Headmaster, never!"

As she spoke, she hurriedly scribbled something on the parchment and then gestured apologetically with her hands: "I really can't help you, dearie. I'm terribly sorry." While gesturing, she skillfully aimed at Hermione and a crumpled piece of parchment fell straight into the pocket of her robe. "So terribly sorry!"

"Hermione!" The voice calling her startled her and she whirled around – to face one Ronald Weasley who had an anxious expression on his face. "Why weren't you at dinner? Are you ill? And how come you are just standing here in the hallway? And why's she so sorry? What's the matter?"

She was going to say, according to her plan: "It's none of your business", but his concern for her made her blush and stutter: "I-I'm fine, Ron, it's nothing."

"Yes, dear, nothing at all," the Fat Lady assured from her frames and Hermione cringed. The Lady's whole demeanour just shrieked _secrets! romance! embarrassment! _and she was sure Ron would see it as clearly as she did, especially when the Lady carried on: "We were just discussing the _love_...ly weather outside."

"I forgot the password," Hermione added hurriedly.

"You never forget the password! Bloody hell, Hermione, you set them yourself!"

"Yes, yes, which is why I now remember it again. _Determination," _she snapped at the portrait, trying to distract Ron from the Fat Lady's not-so-subtle winks and whispers (_It's him, isn't it?). _She swept in to the Common Room and discreetly opened the little note while Ron was still behind her. Her eyes flew over the few words and then she crumpled the paper in her fist and turned around.

"Do you think Harry would loan me his cloak?"

"What?" Ron stared at her, open-mouthed. She almost grimaced. What was happening to her careful plans and discreet conduct? Why was she practically revealing herself to Ron – and to him, of all people!

"I should check something in the library and there's really not enough time before the curfew." Not the best of excuses and not very skillfully performed, either, but maybe it would go through. She studied Ron's face...it _possibly_ went through. He _maybe_ bought it.

"I'll come with you." Why was he offering? They weren't even supposed to be speaking, for Heaven's sake!

"It's not necessary. It's just some research."

"Hermione, you look ill and you forgot the password. I don't think you should go by yourself. In fact I don't think you should go at all, but I know not even a herd a wild hippogriffs can keep you out of the library, so I'll come with you." And then he smiled. And something weird happened to her stomach. And then to her brain. And she panicked.

"No! I'm...I'm meeting somebody and you can't come!"

And then she realized what she had said and paled and blushed and run to the stairs, not wanting to see his face. She didn't know which she feared more: that he would get angry or the possibility that he wouldn't.

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There. Some cliches, I know, but it's fun to write them, sometimes. Feedback is appreciated, and I'll try to update a bit faster next time...


	4. Oh Captain! My Captain!

**A/N: **Oops....some time has passed since the last update. Stay firm, my sisters and brothers, I will not abandon this, allthough it might seem so sometimes... Many thanks for your rewievs and hopefully you still remember what happened last.

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**Oh Captain! My Captain!**

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_She swept in to the Common Room and discreetly opened the little note while Ron was still behind her. Her eyes flew over the few words and then she crumpled the paper in her fist and turned around._

_"Do you think Harry would loan me his cloak?"_

_"What?" Ron stared at her, open-mouthed. She almost grimaced. What was happening to her careful plans and discreet conduct? Why was she practically revealing herself to Ron – and to him, of all people!_

_"I should check something in the library and there's really not enough time before the curfew." Not the best of excuses and not very skillfully performed, either, but maybe it would go through. She studied Ron's face...it possibly went through. He maybe bought it._

_"I'll come with you." Why was he offering? They weren't even supposed to be speaking, for Heaven's sake!_

_"It's not necessary. It's just some research."_

_"Hermione, you look ill and you forgot the password. I don't think you should go by yourself. In fact I don't think you should go at all, but I know not even a herd a wild hippogriffs can keep you out of the library, so I'll come with you." And then he smiled. And something weird happened to her stomach. And then to her brain. And she panicked._

_"No! I'm...I'm meeting somebody and you can't come!"_

_And then she realized what she had said and paled and blushed and run to the stairs, not wanting to see his face. She didn't know which possibility she feared more: that he would get angry or that he wouldn't._

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She stormed to her dormitory, slamming the door shut behind her. She was trembling all over. Why, why, _why_ had she said that? She knew very well that jealousy didn't work with Ron. He got jealous and angry allright – or at least he previously had gotten jealous and angry, now she didn't know if he would anymore, as there was that other _girl _– but it never helped any. No amount of rage had ever made him confess any feelings besides the said rage. She sometimes believed that being jealous actually prevented him from making a move, or maybe made it easier for him to accept the other girls' approaches.

Therefore, for the last year or so, Hermione had cautiously avoided any contact with boys that he might have interpreted flirtatious. She had even continued doing so _after_ all those air-heads had started to stalk him. Sometimes, she had been tempted to experiment, to make sure he cared at least enough to get angry, but she had kept herself in check. She had reminded herself she didn't want him getting angry, that anger wasn't the emotion she was after. And now she had ruined it all. If there had been any lingering affection for her in Ron, now he surely would like to forget it forever. If nothing else, she had probably given him one more reason to cling to his new _Hufflepuff_.

Why? Why? Why? What on earth had driven her to do such an idiot thing? Suddenly Hermione jumped. Maybe she had been hexed? Yes, hexed with stupidity! She really wouldn't putit past the Fat Lady to do something so utterly thick and devious. She probably had imagined it would help Hermione, for Heaven's sake! Like when she had been rambling her not-so-subtle hints about love and secrets!

Hermione was all set and ready to transfigure some conditioner into turpentine and attack the portrait, when she hit her toe sharply against the foot of her bed. The pain made her stop and admit what she had subconsciously realized already: she actually had been very stupid all by herself, with no hexes or even jinxes involved. She groaned and slumped down on her bed. If there really was some entity keeping score of the mistakes and follies each person made, she had probably done her share for at least a few years. Hopefully they would count and she would be saved from making any graver errors, ones that would affect more important thing than her own happiness or dignity. Then, at least, some good would come from all this agony and humiliation.

Nevertheless the stupidity she had just committed, Hermione wasn't stupid. She could identify her own thoughts as self-pitying and martyrish. She could even imagine her mental voice having quite a whiny quality and very much in common with the Moaning Myrtle. She shivered at the comparison and straightened her back, struggling to deal with the problem at hand.

She stared at the crumpled piece of parchment on her lap. The script was elaborate and old-fashioned, almost like calligraphy. Well,that was to be expected, as the Fat Lady had lived several hundreds years ago and learnt to write during the era when paper was expensive and writing a form of art. The message of the luxuriant script was simple, though. _Eighth corridor to the left on the fourth floor, the portrait in between the two landscapes. Tell him Primrose sent you and address him as "Captain". Good luck._

How was she now supposed to go? Or was there even any reason to go anymore, with her having spoilt it all with Ron? And why again a new person to ask advice from? She read the message one more time. She wanted to go. If not for else than curiosity and common courtesy. As the Fat Lady had risked Dumbledore's anger by slipping Hermione the note, it would be extremely rude not to use her advice. Wouldn't it?

She was in the middle of her reasoning, when the door opened and Lavender stepped in. She eyed Hermione curiously and with a fair amount of caution. All of Gryffindor had learnt to be careful when they knew Hermione Granger was upset, and according to Harry, Ron and Hermione had once again been quarrelling.

"Sorry to disturb you, Hermione, but Harry wanted to see you downstairs."

"Oh." She didn't like the idea of Harry getting involved with their fights, and she didn't like the idea of Harry getting involved with her love life – the one Ron now thought she had or the one she herself wanted to have. For Hermione Granger, her crushes and affections had always been something very private. At least always since the time she was eight and the girl she had regarded as her best friend had announced her big, secret crush to the entire school and she had been mocked for days. Hermione still shivered, remembering how the boy she had fancied had laughed and grimaced in disgust when hearing about her crush. After Lockhart, she hadn't even ever written anything possibly discriminating down anywhere. When she was bursting with her emotions towards Ron, she could scribble something on a piece of paper and burn it immediately afterwards. She really, _really_ didn't want to talk about this with Harry.

"Well, all right. I'll go," she, however, heard herself answering the awaiting Lavender, who visibly relaxed and immediately got that twinkle in her eyes that told she was going to start questioning and inquiring. Hermione fled the dormitory before the fair-haired girl got her act together. Harry was much poorer inquisitor and, therefore, a more preferable companion at the moment.

"Hermione." Harry was looking nervous and wouldn't look her in the eyes.

"Yes?"

"Um....here." He showed a package towards her. "You have as big a right to borrow it as Ron, and I have loaned it to him, sometimes. There's the map, too, in case you need it."

She really hadn't expected this. "Oh. Thanks, Harry." She was grateful, even though she couldn't help wondering when and why Ron had borrowed Harry's cloak.

Now Harry was looking even more nervous. He shifted and squirmed, until he finally opened his mouth: "Um...but, Hermione... I know you're smart and can take care of yourself and can...um.. make your own decisions and all that, but...um...I just...um..would it be better to see this bloke in the daylight first? I mean..um...he could _assume_... something when you just...I mean....I don't mean...I mean...I know how it irritates Gin when Ron acts all....and I'm not really your brother or...but..."

She felt her cheeks flushing and was certain to be almost as red as Harry. Great! Now Harry thought she had just agreed to meet some boy in the middle of the night somewhere as their first date. And if Harry thought so, Ron thought so – and he still hadn't tried to stop her. Maybe it was all in vain. Maybe Ron didn't like her at all. Not even enough to get angry.

"It's not like that, Harry," she mumbled attempting to make up some other reason for meeting some one in secret at night. For once, her mind was empty. Totally empty. Did it feel like this if you simply didn't know any answers in the class? Hermione felt an entirely new kind of empathy towards Neville in Potions. She remained silent and didn't look at Harry.

"Oh...um...I didn't tell Ron I loaned you the cloak. I guess I can keep him in our dormitory tonight. He's sulking. Just...be careful, will you?"

She just nodded and blushed even more, as Harry awkwardly squeezed her shoulder and climbed up the stairs. Well. Now she had the means and she had the backup.

x x x

Hermione checked the map once more in the light of her wand. Snape was in his chambers, and Filch in his. Harry and Ron were in their dormitory and the whole floor was empty of living creatures. Carefully, she slipped the invisibility cloak off of her, folded it neatly under her arm and raised her lighted wand to examine the portraits on the wall. There was a landscape: a sunny pasture with a few sheep and a brook. Another landscape represented a sea-side village. She could almost smell the salt in the air and the stormy weather in the painting made the waves hurl against the cliffs so harshly she nearly got sea-sick just by looking.

Hermione was so concentrated in the landscapes, that she didn't at first notice the smaller painting in between them. When she finally did, she felt her palms start sweating and her heart beating fast. What would the mysterious man in the painting say? She approached the portrait and eyed it cautiously. There seemed to be some kind of small tavern in the background, and in the front, there was a man fast asleep, slumped on a chair under a big oak tree.

The loudly snoring man was youngish and good-looking in a roguish way. His shirt was only half-tucked in his pants and his uniform jacket hung haphazardly on the back of his chair. He had a kind of attractive five-o'clock shadow on his face and a hair-style seriously competing with Harry's. He certainly looked like some one who had a love-life, probably several at the same time, but Hermione wasn't so sure if she wanted to ask his advice. He was certain to think she was incurably naive and childish and inexperienced to have such stupid problems.

She almost returned to the Gryffindor Tower, but it felt more stupid and childish still not to do anything after all the trouble she had gone throughin order to speak to him. Carefully, she whispered: "Excuse me!" The man didn't stir. "Oy! Captain!" Hermione was about to add: "my captain", and started to nervously giggle at the thought of performing poetry to a sleeping painting, when the man suddenly opened his eyes.

"Oh my, oh my. What a pretty little lady," he drawled, grinned lazily and stretched so that Hermione could see his muscles ripple under the fine cotton shirt. She blushed, even though she was certain the man did it on purpose and exactly to get the kind of reaction she was involuntarily offering.

"What does a pretty little lady like you do here, all alone, in the middle of the night, if I may ask?"

"Primrose sent me, Captain." Hermoine was proud that her voice sounded quite normal. She wasn't one to fall into these kind of tricks, thank you very much.

"Primrose?" Now the man straightened in his chair and leaned forward. "How's the old bird? Back to her old business, eh? The Headmaster must have changed."

"No, sir. Albus Dumbledore is still the Headmaster. That's why she sent me to you. She couldn't talk to me herself."

"My my....well, little lady, let's hear it then. Captain O'Samuelson ready to serve you!" He saluted lazily and reached for his glass under the chair. "Marvellous stuff, this. Nothing compares to real old, nice port. D'you care for a drink, little lady?"

"I'm only seventeen, Captain. I'm not allowed to drink alcohol."

"And according to your expression, I shouldn't drink either, eh?" The man took a hefty swallow. "That's not nice, you know, judging others. Especially when the others are helping you, little lady."

"Sorry." She wasn't, but she was uncomfortable and his gaze travelling up and down her body didn't help any.

"So, little lady. How come such a pretty creature can't get her man? I would take you anytime. Anywhere." He smirked suggestively and she blushed again.Hermione didn't feel like sharing any of her emotions with such a rude person, but just as she was to say so, the man's expression changed.

"Hey, hey, little lady, don't get mad! I didn't mean to be offensive or anything. It's just been such a long time since I've talked to anybody, let alone to a pretty girl like you." He pouted cutely and then grinned through his pout, and Hermione couldn't help but to grin back. Suddenly he seemed as young as Ron or Harry, and not at all threatening. His grin widened when he saw Hermione's smile.

"Now, little lady, tell me about this thick-headed fellow of yours. And call me Derek, will you?"

Hermione couldn't help it. She was a private person and she never shared her secrets with strangers, but all of a sudden, she found herself just pouring out everything. She told about her own insecurities, about Ron's girlfriends and how they didn't even _know_ him, about his jealousy that never got him to _do _anything, about Harry and how she didn't want him to think she was seeing some boy in secret, and about Lavender and Parvati and how she _did_ want them to believe she had some one, because they always looked at her as if they pitied her, because she hadn't a boyfriend. She told it all, and it didn't even feel awkward or dangerous. Maybe it was because he was a portrait, or maybe because he was so good-looking and looked at her in a way that made her feel pretty, or maybe it was because he _listened_. Really listened.

When Hermione finished, out of breath and flushed, he didn't say anything for a while. He sipped his port, and when he, anew, offered her a glass, she accepted and let the sweet drink slowly spread on her palate. The way he twirled the small glass in his large hand, looking at the swirling liquid, somehow calmed her. Maybe he could help her. Maybe he really could. And then she could be just a normal girl for change, just a normal girl with a normal life and normal problems.

"Ingenious, really," Derek said slowly, deep in thought, "to paint me in front of the tavern. The port never ends and I can order nearly anything whenever I take fancy." Hermione started and looked at him, offended and angry. Was that all he had to say? She had poured her heart out to him and that was all he had to say?

"If that's all you have to say, I really -" She didn't get further in her rant, when he interrupted.

"I believe I can help you, little lady. I believe I can."

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A/N: Well, well, well...what will he offer to do? What advice can he have? How will Ron behave the next day? How about Harry? What will Hermione tell Lavender and Parvati? Is every damn portrait in Hogwarts an Agony Aunt?

It was fluff....I know, and not even so original fluff. Sorry. I just felt like writing some. I was having fun, hopefully you did, too. Please give me some feedback! It's highly appriciated and cherised.


	5. Conspirators Extraordinare

A/N: Wow, a speedy update! What is this? What has happened to me? But in spite of the speedy update, there will be still more awkward moments for our heroine. Be a sadist, enjoy!

Thank you everybody for your reviews and special thanks to B.I.W, who caught an embarrassing mistake I had made….

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**Conspirators Extraordinare**

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_When she finished, out of breath and flushed, he didn't say anything for a while. He sipped his port, and when he, anew, offered her a glass, she accepted and let the sweet drink slowly spread on her palate. The way he twirled the small glass in his large hand, looking at the swirling liquid, somehow calmed her. Maybe he could help her. Maybe he really could. And then she could be just a normal girl for change, just a normal girl with a normal life and normal problems._

_"Ingenious, really," Derek said slowly, deep in thought, "to paint me in front of the tavern. The port never ends and I can order nearly anything whenever I take fancy." Hermione started and looked at him, offended and angry. Was that all he had to say? She had poured her heart out to him and that was all he had to say?_

_"If that's all you have to say, I really -" She didn't get further in her rant, when he interrupted._

_"I believe I can help you, little lady. I believe I can."_

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She leaned nearer the portrait almost spilling her port in her enthusiasm. He leaned forward, too, with a very secretive expression, and was just about to open his mouth, when a wheezing voice startled them both and Hermione_ did_ spill her drink.

"Derek! Wait for me! I know it all first hand, darling!"

Hermione could hardly believe her eyes. There, in the landscape painting next to her, was the Fat Lady, wading trough the salt water, her curls floating freely in the wind, the bow hanging loose on the side of her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her face wet from perspiration, and she was puffing heavily. She somehow _hopped_ from the landscape into the portrait with Derek, and immediately adjusted herself with the scale of the painting, shrinking at sight. Hermione couldn't understand how she managed to do it, as her own, original portrait was at least three times the size of Derek's and the marital landscape was about the same size with hers. Suddenly, she realized she hadn't even noticed the equal shift in measure when accepting the offered glass of port from the man. Hers was of a normal size, as his would have been like a doll's dish for her.

In any normal circumstances, Hermione would have been extremely upset for not noticing such an important aspect of the Hogwart's portraits before, as well as extremely interested in finding out how exactly it all worked, but at the very moment, she had more important issues to consider.

"The Gryffindor Tower?! You can't just leave it unguarded! What about Harry!?" Hermione was about to bolt and run to the Tower herself, but the Fat Lady panted:

"Noting to worry about, my dear, nothing at all! Violet is taking my place. By Merlin, she even managed to look a bit like me, when she changed into that lovely pink dress and we did some work with that hair of hers. No-one will notice, my dear. I simply had to come, you understand. It has been _ages_ since the last time, and I simply couldn't let Derek-darling here have all the fun!"

"Primrose, Primrose," Derek placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a thorough once-over, smiling widely, "you are as pretty as you've always been. If I'd just known that all it took to make you visit was some sweet little lady with troubles with love, I'd seen to it much earlier."

"You silly boy, you cannot leave your portrait! How many sweet little ladies have you seen in this corridor?" She was giggling and blushing and somehow, inexplicably, Hermione felt a little sting of jealousy. Just a moment ago this exciting, handsome man had been totally focused on _her_, and now she was forgotten for some giggling idiot. _Deja-vu_, she thought to herself bitterly.

"Wouldn't you like to know that, my prim little Rosie," Derek drawled grinning wolfishly, and the Fat Lady answered accordingly, swatting the man playfully on the arm, blushing and giggling still more. _Were there some rules for this kind of behaviour?_ Hermione found herself wondering bitterly. The Fat Lady and the _Hufflepuffs_ clinging to Ron were using exactly the same tactics: swat, giggle, blush, look down, cling, swat, giggle, blush, touch his hand, swing your hair, giggle, swat, blush. At least the knowledge for the ridiculous conduct couldn't be found in any book, as most of those using it weren't capable of reading anything in the measure of adapting the written information to practice. That thought should have given her some satisfaction. It didn't.

Hermione felt stupid standing there, listening to the two portraits – or could they be called portraits when at least one of them could leave their frames and backgrounds? Perhaps they should be called something like _painted persons?_ – wildly flirting with each other. She thought of leaving them at it, or then politely coughing to attract their attention, but she didn't do either. She just stood there, feeling stupid.

And if there was something Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinare, didn't care to feel like, that was stupid. Therefore, in addition to intellectually challanged, she was beginning to feel angry as well. The Gryffindors _and_ several members of the other Houses had way back learnt that an upset or worse still, angry, Hermione Granger wasn't something to a) approach, b) irritate further or c) ignore. The painted persons, now ordering more port and some cheese to go with it, weren't maybe guilty of the first crime, but were definitely conducting in a way that easily fulfilled the clauses b and c. And the bushy-haired young woman was absolutely seething.

"Excuse me," she finally snapped, distracting the two culinarists, "for _disturbing_, but if my presence has now fulfilled its purpose as you are reunited, I can maybe return to my quarters-" she didn't get any further, as the Fat Lady's denying shrieks and Derek's booming laughter interrupted her.

"Little lady, little lady, don't you dare to desert us now! We weren't ignoring you," he continued, shaking Hermione a bit with his ability to immediately pinpoint the main reason for her irritation, "we just haven't had a chance to see each other for a long, long time. You see, Rosie here and I, we were the greatest pair of conspirators this school has ever seen-"

"Including the Weasley twins and Albus Dumbledore at the peak of his youth!" the Fat Lady announced, and Derek continued as if he hadn't been interrupted at all:

" – and now we are exclusively at your service! Please, take a seat!" He easily lifted one of the heavy, carved wooden chairs next to him and leaned forward to push it out of the painting and towards Hermione. The minute the piece of furniture emerged from the frames, it popped into its new size, perfectly proportioned for her. It _was_ a disturbing sight, even for a witch, and Hermione felt her anger evaporating from the way of bafflement, as she, gingerly, took the offered seat, crossed her ankles, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and waited for what was to come.

At first, there was nothing to come, or so it seemed. The two painted persons just stared at her, scrutinizing her shrewdly. Every once in a while, one of them would glance at the other, who would nod or shake their head or roll their eyes and then they would both return to stare at her. After five or six minutes, Hermione couldn't remember what had been or was so horrible about being ignored.

Finally, the staring finished and Derek clapped his hands together in an enthusiastic manner, startling Hermione. "Well, well, well, let's get to it, then! What do you think, Rosie, would the _Commodum Aspectus_ be appropriate for the little lady?"

"Oh, Derek darling, that's just wonderful! And then a _Commodum Veritas_ or maybe a _Commodum Veritas Maximum_, depending on the situation."

"Too much is never too bad with the matters of heart, is it now, Rosie dear?"

The Fat Lady giggled fervently and shook her head, pouring more port for both of them. Somehow, Hermione started to feel a tiniest bit uncomfortable. For the first time, she got to wonder _why _exactly had the Headmaster prohibited the Fat Lady from giving amorous adviceto the students. The enthusiasm of the two painted persons was almost disturbing and she wasn't certain if she was so keen to let a couple of more than tipsy, fanatical wanna-be-Cupids meddle with her life. Especially as she was certain she had never heard of the spells they were discussing. _Commodum_ could probably be translated as adaptation or adaptive or adjusting and _Aspectus_ would refer to appearances or views, and _Veritas _naturally meant truth and...all in all, she really didn't like how it sounded.

"Excuse me," Hermione asked politely, "could you perhaps explain to me how those aforementioned spells would work?"

Derek O'Samuelson grinned wickedly. "Well, little lady, these spells are really quite ingenious, even if I say so myself-"

"Derek-darling! Don't forget I did the actual transfiguration!" Again, he didn't let the Fat Lady's interruption cut his speech, but only flashed her a smile that silenced her quickly. Or silenced all but her giggles.

"- as they actually combine all the best elements of glamour-spells, _Imperio_, love-potions and _Veritaserum_, without being illegal, as most of those."

"What!?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She had expected some advice, maybe even some small spell (deep in her mind she had _maybe_ hoped for something...romantic which would have made Ron realize his true feelings for her and express them like a Gryffindor) but definitely nothing _illegal _or _amoral_!

Apparently Derek misunderstood her shriek of indignation as one of exuberance, as he carried on with a self-satisfied explanation: "Yes, yes, little lady, it is actually possible. The first spell will adjust the way your young man sees you. It won't actually change your appearance, only his view of it. In his eyes, you'll be the most desirable little lady on the earth. It really works pretty much like true love."

"And as most men love with their eyes, that will probably solve the problem already, my dear. _Very_ much like true love. No-one has never noticed any difference," the Fat Lady was fast to add.

_Like _true love? And now Hermione's mind registered also the Fat Lady's earlier mention of transfiguration. What on earth was supposed to get transfigured? Hermione thanked all the deities above and anywhere – if any existed, mind you – for the fact that the portraits if Hogwarts wouldn't be capable of actually performing spellsat students. Actually, according to _Hogwart,a History_, they shouldn't even have wands. Her relieved sigh got interrupted, though, when Derek drew out something he shouldn't even have had in his possession: a wand. Hermione was starting to feel faint and somehow a voice disturbingly like Ollivander's echoed in her head: _Twelve and half inches, ebony with a hair of Veela, excellent for manipulation and trickery._ The dark piece of wood in the painted person's hand gathered all ofHermione's focus andshe found it hard to breath at all.

"Yes, yes. But as my little Rosie suggested, we should also use _Commondum Veritas_, and thus adjust his view of the truth, as well," twirling his wand in his hand, Derek continued as if discussing a purely theoretical question, "which, in this case, is his view of the way he feels. You can pretty much decide how it changes, little lady, and again, his conduct, or yours, doesn'talter in any other aspect. Really ingenious, don't you think? His feelings and your appearance will be exactly the same as always, only his _view_ of them changes. He will simply see things in a different light. No-one can guess, unlike when the _Imperius_ is used."

"Oh, but the Unforgivables are all so _common_ and unrefined," the Fat Lady sighed.

Hermione had just listened to all of it, her mouth slightly open, her heart pounding in her chest, but now she, finally, found her voice again: " My..my...you can't...I can't...that's _horrible_! Simply outrageous! I don't want to _force _him to love me or _trick _him to think I'm beautiful! Have you no idea how _immoral _and _atrocious_ that is!"

The Fat Lady and her companion only chuckled lightly. Derek answered Hermione with a perfectly calm voice: "My little lady, how does it really differ from a normal glamour? Expect that it actually _works_ and you wont embarrass yourself with changing your looks in a way that everybody would notice?"

"Exactly, dear," the Fat Lady added soothingly, " and the spells will hardly make any difference, as your young man obviously already finds you attractive."

"But what if he doesn't?" Hermione shrieked. "And what about the other spell? The one that would make him believe he loves me even if he doesn't!?"

"Simply a change of perspective, little lady," Derek offered mildly. "You asked for it yourself. You told he just didn't see you as _datable_, didn't you? Well, now he will. His erroneous thoughts of his feelings merely won't come in the way."

"His _feelings_ won't come in the way, you mean?" Hermione tried to sound sarcastic, but hearing her own voice she realized it sounded more _dras_tic than _sarcas_tic, and drastic in a fearful way, if that was even possible.

"Most probably the paradigm sift will only make him realize his true feelings for you, dear," the Fat Lady was still using her soothing voice, as if Hermione was a scared animal or a small child, "and if that isn't the case...well, as I said, no-one will be able to tell the difference."

"So, little lady, shall we?" Derek asked brusquely, flourishing his wand as if warming it up for the upcoming trial. "This is the absolutely risk-free way to love: no fear of rejection, no possibility of embarrassing yourself...just you stand still, little lady, and I'll do it all for you." He was smiling his charming smile, but suddenly, _wolfish_ didn't mean fascinatingly wicked anymore. Instead, Hermione could really guess how the Little Red Riding Hood must have felt, when the foolish girl had finally realized why a wolf wasn't such a nice play-mate.

Both of the painted persons really seemed quite insane at the moment. The dim light in the corridor didn't help any, laying sinister shadows on their artificial faces. Hermione couldn't ever have believed she would fear a painting, or the Fat Lady, for Heaven's sake, but at the moment, the threat those two presented seemed very real, indeed. That glint in their eyes, the way their lips twisted into weird smiles...she had always thought the portraits were hanging on the castle's walls for the same reasons they did in the Muggle world: to present respect for the people they represented. Now she was beginning to wonder whether they were placed in the view to keep them in sight and in check. And those two certainly weren't in check, at the moment. Neither were they, or her, in sight of anyone.

Hermione watched Derek's wand as he raised it and prepared to cast the spell. As he opened his mouth, she threw herself to the floor, struggled with the invisibly cloak, managed to pull it on and started to crawl away as rapidly as possible. When she heard Derek's voice ask: "Where did she vanish?" she felt extremely grateful that at least _that_ tidbit of information in the _Hogwarts,a History_ applied also to Captain O'Samuelson. Portraits really did have some difficulties in adjusting their sight when something suddenly moved below the line of vision their frames enclosed.

When she got to the end of the corridor, she started to run as if she was possessed, trying to beat the Fat Lady. She didn't even look at the Marauder's Map, but ran and ran, her invisible, hurried footsteps echoing in the hallways. Dear God, she almost _hoped_ she would encounter Snape or Filch!

She didn't, though, and arriving at the Gryffindor Tower, she was almost sick from relief as she saw Violet snoozing in the Fat Lady's portrait. "Determination!" she hissed with force, and slipped inside as soon as the sleepy woman got the entrance open. She was shaken, she was overwhelmingly tired, she was shivering, she was near tears, and there was something she had to do.

Determinedly, Hermione Granger climbed to her Head Girl room, took out _Hogwarts, a History_, and started to search for information she should have looked up _before_ she had said one word to either the Fat Lady or Captain Derek O'Samuelson. Fervently, she flipped through the familiar pages. Portraits....guardians of the Houses...prohibitions on the portraits and the statues...love spells....there!

_For nearly two hundred years, from the year 1769 AD, when a portrait of one Captain Derek Beowulf Samuelson was, unadvisedly, placed next to the entrance for the Gryffindor House quarters, and hence also the portrait of the entrance's guardian Primrose Alexandra Whittlerback, better known as the Fat Lady, the two aforementioned characters were known to offer "advice in the matters of heart" for unsuspecting students. _

_Through years, the characters in the portraits became more daring and bold in their conduct, the unsupervised situation finally resulting in a substantial rampage among educatees. The Fat Lady and her conspirator had, according to several witnesses, gained a way to cast actual spellsat students, and, hence, caused various unpleasant situations, especially as the aforementioned enchantments were bordering illegality and more often than not cast without the consent of the student or students in question. _

_After the state of affairs culminated in various ill-advised and objectionable bondings between underage educatees, the Headmaster Dippet and the then Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore finally succeededat separating the portraits from each other, bounding the Fat Lady in a way she is forever unable to cast spells at the students, and confining the more dangerous of the two, Captain O'Samuelson, in his original portrait in the far away corner of the castle._

_As O'Samuelson is rumoured to have preserved his magical capabilities and the possession of his wand, his whereabouts are concealed from the student body in a way that only with a written invitation offered after a specific plea it is even possible to actually seehis potrait._

Melausina Charmeuse, the witch responsible for this whole awful mess, smiled maliciously at Hermione from the corner of the page and winked smugly as she slammed the book shut. For once, knowledge didn't render the situation any more manageable. Hermione felt tears raising in her eyes. How had she been so stupid? _Without consent..._what if they started to harass her now? Or Ron? What would they do? Had she maybe broken the confinements placed by the Headmasters? What if the portraits were now free to do what ever they wanted to? And it was all her fault!

Why did other people manage to act all foolish and girly, but when she tried to do even something really small and innocent, it all blew up on her face? Was foolishness really forbidden for one Hermione Granger? Was she really condemned to act practical forever and for everyone else, too? Was it fair at all, what?!

The dawn saw one Hermione Granger, the one and only wholly sensible teenaged witch in the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, silently crying her eyes out in her Head Girl Room.

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A/N: It seems I'm not a nice, fluffy person. Oops. Do give me what I have coming – review! I will finish this even without reviews, but plenty of them may speed me…maybe. In the next chapter we'll meet Ron and Harry and see Hermione avoiding the Fat Lady. As well as she can. The Latin in this chapter was probably anything but grammatically correct. Sorry.


	6. The Evil, Evil Fine Arts

**a/n: **Another speedy update! This is happening either because of some weird Yuletide virus or then the reason for my speed are simply your lovely reviews. Thank you very much for those, they are really appreciated and cherished. But now, on with the story: Hermione and paranoia that's unfortunately not without foundation.

**The Evil, Evil Fine Arts**

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_Melausina Charmeuse, the witch responsible for this whole awful mess, smiled maliciously at Hermione from the corner of the page and winked smugly as she slammed the book shut. For once, knowledge didn't render the situation any more manageable. Hermione felt tears raising in her eyes. How had she been so stupid? Without consent...what if they started to harass her now? Or Ron? What would they do? Had she maybe broken the confinements placed by the Headmasters? What if the portraits were now free to do what ever they wanted to? And it was all her fault!_

_Why did other people manage to act all foolish and girly, but when she tried to do even something really small and innocently girlish, it all blew up on her face? Was foolishness really forbidden for one Hermione Granger? Was she really condemned to act practical forever and for everyone else, too? Was it fair at all, what?!_

_The dawn saw one Hermione Granger, the one and only wholly sensible teenaged witch in the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, silently crying her eyes out in her Head Girl Room._

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She should have felt as if she hadn't slept at all. Se should have looked as if she had cried the whole night long. She should have blushed fervently when seeing Harry and Ron in the morning. But she was Hermione Granger, she had had time to prepare and she was a witch.

Came the morning and she was perfectly collected, looked well rested and calm and had Harry's invisibility cloak with her in her bag so that Ron couldn't see it and get suspicious. Oh yes, she _looked_ calm and well rested. She was a witch , after all. In reality, she was weary, distressed and seriously panicking, panicking in a way one normally panics fearing confrontation with Death Eaters or Dark Lords, not at all like one usually acts before confronting their quarter's guardian portrait.

During the long, sleepless night, Hermione had really gained a totally new way of looking at the portraits on the castle's walls. As far as she was concerned, they were now all beyond evil, guilty before proven innocent. Maybe she should ask her parents to send her some serious amounts of turpentine, just in order to defend herself from the sinister fine arts of her school. At least, she would not listen to a word the Fat Lady said, and she wouldn't let Ron or Harry do so either.

"Hermione," she heard Harry saying timidly and turned to look at him, simultaneously making a plan to protect him from the evil paintings. "Eh...how was your date?" Harry asked, glancing at the stairs Ron still hadn't come down.

"Very scary," she answered absentmindedly, shuddering. Harry blanched and then, he did that all too familiar shift of demeanor and in the place of the awkward and embarrassed teenaged, there was someone else, someone older, someone ready to face danger and violence if necessary.

"Scary?" he asked softly, but with a grave undertone.

"Not like that!" Hermione hurried to correct him. "Besides, it wasn't a _date_ date!" She felt frustrated. How could she tell Harry? Hadn't he enough on his shoulders already? The Boy Who Lived surely didn't need his best friend letting evil paintings loose and expecting him to fix it all.

"I'm fine,"she insisted, and even though both Harry and Hermione recognized the phrase as the same Harry himself had used thousands of times, always lying, he didn't push it and she was grateful he didn't.

Hermione didn't know whether she should try to pass the Fat Lady as fast as she could or wait for Ron and make sure the Lady wouldn't do anything to him. The dilemma was solved for her, when Ron appeared and loudly descended the stairs.Hermoine was nervous to look at him and quickly turned her face away, ready to hear some ridiculous accusation of fraternizing with the enemy or jeopardizing Harry's safety. However, Ron acted perfectly normal, and for some reason, she felt almost disappointed.

"Morning. I'm starving, let's go to eat," was all Ron said, and running his fingers through his uncombed hair, he neared the portrait hole. Quickly, Hermione slipped past him, grabbed both Ron's and Harry's hands, shouted the password and hurriedly ducked through the hole, pulling the perplexed boys along with her.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "What on earth was that? What's the matter?"

"She has seeecrets!" the Fat Lady announced screeching after the trio, but Hermione didn't let it stop her. She dragged the boys safely away from the evil portrait. Now Ron was protesting as well:

"What the bloody hell is this, Hermione?"

"Nothing," she assured, "it's just that we are in a hurry, if we want to eat breakfast and still be in time for Transfiguration. Have you done your homework?" Suddenly she realized she was still holding Ron's hand and hastily drew hers away. Why hadn't he let go of her hand? It was sweaty and clammy and Harry had let go ages ago and nobody wanted to hold a perspiring hand – and she had more important issues to attend.. "I'm sure you didn't write all of the required length, did you, Ron? If we hurry, you can still add a few inches."

The boys stared at her, clearly not convinced by her explanations, but she almost ran along the corridor, rattling about homework and marks and points. As she talked, she held her right hand in her sleeve, ready to draw her wand, and her eyes were restlessly patrolling the walls. More than once, she was certain she saw the Fat Lady in one of the paintings and several times she thought she heard Derek's voice taunting her. What if he had escaped his painting? He could lurk anywhere! For a moment, she felt tempted to pull out Harry's invisibility cloak and hide from all the painted eyes following her, but she couldn't leave Ron without protection.

Hermione didn't notice how Ron and Harry stared at her and then looked at each other, concerned for their best friend. She didn't acknowledge the boys' timid attempts to start a conversation with her either. All of her concentration was used on observing the countless paintings on Hogwarts' walls. Didn't that woman look like Derek O'Samuelson? Maybe she was his sister or aunt or mother or something? Was the name under that portrait really Marigold? Violet, Primrose, Marigold, Pansy...what if they were all Parkinsons? That would certainly explain their evilness!

It could have been paranoia. Hermione would have been happy to admit her suspicions were unaccounted for. However, even before they reached the Great Hall, three portraits had already addressed her. A elderly woman with grey hair and wandering eyes had asked her _not to listen to that nasty boy, as he had always been a rotten apple;_ a slightly plumb but still pretty lady with a handsome wizard on her arm had whispered: _you'd better use their charms, they work marvelously! _and a small boy with a pony had breathlessly stammered: _cousin Derek wants to see you right after breakfast!_

Naturally, the attention several portraits gave her didn't go unnoticed by her friends. No matter how loudly she nagged about Charms and Potions and essays, she couldn't hide the fact that the art of Hogwarts was unusually interested in one Hermione Granger. Finally, Ron grabbed her elbow and turned her to face him and Harry.

"Hermione, what's this all about? Who's that Derek fellow? How do you know all these paintings?"

"Ron, Harry..." she couldn't face them, but kept her eyes down, " I'm awfully sorry, but I can't explain now. Please, just don't...don't talk to any of the portraits. Not even the Fat Lady!"

"Why?" That was Harry, and even in that one little word, his voice managed to sound determined. Hermione almost felt compelled to tell it all, but she resisted the temptation. It was all her fault. She had no right to dump this mess on others, never mind if they were saviours of the wizarding world or her best friends. She had to fix it herself.

"I can't tell you now. Just...don't talk to them, not at all! And you better keep your wand ready."

Hermione had just finished her sentence, when someone behind her shouted suddenly: _Derek!_ She drew her wand, turned around quickly as lightning and started to cast _Stupefy_. Before she got to utter the spell's last syllable, Harry had took hold of her wand and stopped her from finishing the spell.

"What are you bloody doing?!" Ron shouted. "You almost hexed that firstie! You're the Head Girl!"

"Should we take you to the infirmary?" Harry asked, more calm, but as concerned as Ron.

"His name is Derek?" was all Hermione could utter.

"Y-ye-es," the small first-year stammered, clearly scared of her. "I'm so sorry, Miss. I didn't mean it."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, "It's not your fault what your name is, midget! She's a bit crazy sometimes. I guess she thought you were someone else."

"I...I didn't know there was someone awful named Derek." The little Hufflepuff seemed to be at brink of tears and his lower lip was trembling dangerously. His friends were staring at Hermione as if she was something dangerous and explosive.

"There isn't, sport," Ron assured the small boy and grinned at him, pushing a chocolate frog in his hand. "There you go. Have a nice breakfast, Derek!" The boy practically vanished from the corridor and after he and his friends had gone, Ron turned to Hermione, looking more serious than she had seen him for a long time.

"Now, Hermione, what's this all about? Who's this Derek fellow? How's he made you scare the midgets in the corridors?"

"No, he...it's not....,"Hermione was sounding idiotic and she knew it. Sometimes, Ron had that effect on her. She tried to look at Harry, instead, and make up a believable explanation for her weird behaviour. "Um...I found this spell in a book and....um...it makes the portraits see me as a person, instead of a pupil amongst the others. That's why they treat me so friendly. And...Derek...I went to meet him last night and..." at this point of her report Hermione realized she hadn't used the best possible wording. First, she thought of telling it all, but then an image of Harry drowning under his responsibilities stopped her. So, she continued awkwardly: "...and it didn't go too well, so...um...I'm a bit jumpy about the subject. I'm fine, though. I just don't want to talk about it."

She glanced nervously at Ron, but his face was, for once, unreadable. "You loaned her the cloak then, eh?" he asked Harry, who nodded, looking guilty, and then neither of the boys said anything anymore. Hermione looked from one to the other and couldn't think of what to say. She hadn't even time to think of what to say and how to explain the Derek-thing. It was much more important to keep an eye on the paintings and prevent them from harming Ron without telling him or Harry what she had done.

During the breakfast, Hermione was again oblivious to the concerned glances Ron, Harry and by the time, even Neville and Ginny were throwing at her. Instead, she was contemplating about Sirius Black. Not about his death or Harry's sorrow, but about the time he had broken into the Gryffindor Tower slashing the Fat Lady's portrait with a large knife. At the time, his behaviour had seemed horrid and drastic; now Hermione saw Sirius Black as an extremely intelligent and observant man. Deciding to take a leaf out of his book if necessary, she took a table knife in her hand, drew her wand and transfigured the little blunt utensil into a large, sharp knife. Satisfied, she followed the sharp edge of the knife with her finger and slipped the now dangerous-looking tool into the pocket of her robe, again missing the looks of her friends. She was prepared.

Yes, she was maybe prepared to meet the Fat Lady, but she wasn't prepared to get seriously mobbed by half of the portraits on the Hogwart's walls. During the day, several dozens of paintings approached her, and each one of them seemed to have their own opinion on whether she should let Derek cast his spell at her or not.

It was exhausting, trying to keep her secret from Ron and Harry, when every few minutes, some two-dimensional character would start loudly pouring out unasked for, but extremely loud advice on her love-life. She would have dumped the boys, but then Derek could have spelled Ron instead of her and that just wasn't going to happen. So, Hermione had to stay close to Ron and simultaneously prevent him from hearing anything the extremely loud paintings had to say. By dinner-time, she was going crazy. She was looking behind her shoulder and under the desks all the time, sometimes even trying to do both at the same time, which was really quite hard on her neck and shoulders. She was also talking constantly and more loudly than usual, hoping her voice to drown all the other noises.

Hermione would have liked nothing more than going to hide in her room as soon as possible, but she couldn't leave Ron at the mercy of the evil paintings. She had to protect him. Nevermind if he had hardly said a word to her all day and was probably daydreaming of his Hufflepuff girlfriend, he was now Hermione Granger's responsibility and she took her responsibilities extremely seriously. So, when he took third helpings of everything on the dinner table, she just sighed, relieved that at least there weren't any actual paintings in the Great Hall.

When both of the boys had finally eaten enough, Hermione led them running to the Gryffindor Tower. After the day they had spent with her, Ron and Harry didn't even question her breakneck speed, but only followed their best female friend with silent resignation. Hermione couldn't stop glancing at the portraits. She was waiting for all of them to start cackling evilly anytime now. She _had _to rescue the boys!

Finally, they reached the Gryffindor Tower. Again, Hermione grabbed both Harry's and Ron's hands, shouted the password, continued her unbreakable rambling only raising her voice still a few notches in order to drown the Fat Lady's comments, were she to make any. Hermione jumped through the hole first, then came Harry and last, Ron.

Hermione was almost ready to sigh of relief, when the portrait hole suddenly started to close – with Ron still in the middle of climbing through it.

"Let him go, you evil pink cow!"

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**a/n: **Yes, yes, that was a cliffy...sorry. I have, at the moment, several scenarios about how to finish this little fic. None of them the one I originally had when starting to write this. Hmm...I even could easily finish this with a beautiful love-declaration and a kiss – so that it would still be an unhappy, angst-filled ending! How great would that be, eh? I can hardly resist... Or then I could write several endings and make you decide....well, we'll see. I can't even decide whether I will write something from Ron's POV or not. In the meantime (i.e. the time I'm happily reflecting my options) please, do review! Reviews inspire me, or at least, they make me feel good inside! You surely can't resist making me fell good inside? Criticism and suggestions are very welcome, too!


	7. Dangerous Weapons and Enchantments

**a/n:** Again a speedy update! I'm on the roll, I guess. It's not that I would have _time_ to write frivolous fanfics, but the fact that I use writing them as a way to procrastinate all the _real_ work I should be doing seems to fasten up the writing process. (There's so _much_ I should be doing, instead of this!) Be happy, you dear readers for my poor work-ethics! And now, if I may present: the next installment in Hermione's Horrifying Adventures. I actually like this chapter, hopefully you do, too!

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**Dangerous Weapons and Enchantments**

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_Finally, they reached the Gryffindor Tower. Again, Hermione grabbed both Harry's and Ron's hands, shouted the password, continued her unbreakable rambling only raising her voice still a few notches in order to drown the Fat Lady's comments, were she to make any. Hermione jumped through the hole first, then came Harry and last, Ron._

_Hermione was almost ready to sigh of relief, when the portrait hole suddenly started to close – with Ron still in the middle of climbing through it._

_"Let him go, you evil pink cow!"_

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She blurted it out, shaking all over, and her actions weren't restricted to yelling alone. After the draggingly long day full of real and imaginary threats, the sight of the Fat Lady smothering Ron was too much for Hermione. Without a thought, she attacked.

"Let him go! Let him go! Don't you dare to do it or I'll use this!" Hermione drew out the knife she had transfigured during the breakfast and pointed it at the Fat Lady. "I'll rip you into half, you disgusting piece of shit! You know what a flamethrower is?! Want to see one? I'd be happy to introduce you."

Hermione's voice that had started out as a yell, was now just a forceful hiss, but the decrease of volume didn't make her any less frightening. She didn't see but the Fat Lady. She locked her eyes with the painting's and silently dared the Fat Lady to make a move. One single move. If the evil cow as much as got a twitch in her ugly little painted toe, Hermione would take it as a declaration of war. She didn't see anything but the portrait trying to hurt the man she loved.

"Hermione! Hermione!" Somehow, Harry was there, squeezing himself between the Fat Lady and Hermione and shaking his friend by the shoulders. "Let go of the knife! Hermione!" She was swaying back and forth in Harry's grip and she couldn't see the Fat Lady clearly anymore, which made her almost frantic. Why was Harry shaking _her_? Shouldn't he be saving Ron like the resident hero he was? And why was Harry shouting so loudly?

"Hermione!" Hey, that wasn't Harry. That voice was different. Different, but as familiar as Harry's. It was...Ron! She turned her head towards the voice and there he was, totally unscathed, as if he hadn't just a moment ago been kidnapped by an evil portrait. Suddenly, Hermione felt like dreaming, like inside of a weird almost-nightmare. The horrible tension left her muscles and everything was in slow-motion and Harry was still shaking her and Ron was staring at her and he wasn't the only one. It seemed that all of Gryffindor was in the Common Room and staring at her. Unfocused, she thought they should have arranged the audience better. Now the tall Seventh Years were all in the front row and the shorter, younger students couldn't get a proper view of the scene she was making. Although the scene maybe was rated at least PG-13 for the violence and sinister art.

"Hermione! Can you hear me?!" Harry was yelling with even more forte now and Hermione snapped out of her trance.

"Of course I can hear you, Harry. You are yelling." Her calm and collected voice astonished even herself. She stepped out of Harry's grip and nonchalantly, slipped the knife back into her schoolbag. Her hands were trembling slightly when she turned back to Ron. He was still staring at her, his blue eyes concerned, his mouth a bit ajar, his breathing quick. Hermione realized that she, too, was breathing heavily, and when she looked at Ron, it become still more evident.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked and she felt her cheeks heating up. Thankfully, her complexion didn't show blush too well, and hopefully no-one could tell.

"Yes. I'm fine. It's just...when she snapped you like that...I panicked." Oh great, now she felt tears rising in her eyes. Exactly what the situation was lacking: womanly tears! She wanted to stop, but heard her own voice continuing: "Oh, Ron, I was so scared!"

"Of what? Hermione, it's a portrait," Ron said soothingly, "The Fat Lady. Besides, I just got stuck, it's no big deal."

"I'm so terribly sorry, dearie!" the Fat Lady chirped from her portrait, smiling an apologetic, syrupy and clearly fake smile, "I can't imagine, how that happened. I _really_ didn't mean it!" Hermione whirled to face the painting and her expression made the Fat Lady pale and whimper in all her smugness. A couple of first years, who were just trying to climb in, froze, turned around and ran fast away from the enraged Head Girl.

"Hermione, really, calm down. It was an accident. Nothing happened." Ron was looking at her. His eyes were still so heavenly concerned and he came closer and put his hand on her shoulder and smiled at her, consolingly, and looked at her intensively and she was all ready to melt into his arms and just breath him in and feel the amazing relief that he was unharmed and here and the Fat Lady hadn't done anything...wait a minute! Hadn't done anything? Why had she then let Ron go? And smiled so smugly? And why was Ron now looking at Hermione like that?

Hermione took a step back and shook off Ron's hand. Her eyes narrowed when she stared at Ron. There was something in his eyes. Something suspicious. They were a bit unfocused, darker blue than usually, and his pupils...oh God, they were dilated! The Fat Lady was looming behind him and Hermione was certain she was smirking.

"Ron? Do you feel anyway out of ordinary? Anything odd?"

"What?" He shook his head a bit and his eyes focused at her. "No, nothing. As I said, it was no big deal." Again, he was staring at her. She was almost certain the Fat Lady had done something.

"Ron?"

"Yeah."

"How do I look like?"

"Wha? Now?"

"Yes. How do I look like...to you?" She felt her palms sweating. Ron shook his head again, as if to clear it.

"Please, answer me! How do I look like? _Now_, to you?" Hermione was dreading the answer, but she had to have it.

"Um..." He was just standing there, looking at her in this odd way. Why didn't he answer?

"Say it! How do I look like?"

"Bloody gorgeous! That's how you look like to me! Happy?" Ron suddenly blurted, and blushed violently. Some-one sniggered. Harry snorted. Ginny whooped.

Hermione felt awful. She had always wanted to hear Ron say something like that, and now, when he finally did, it was only because of some stupid spell. He would never had said it in the middle of the Common Room full of people, otherwise. She had to do something.

"_Finite Incantatum_!" Hermione cried and pointed her wand at Ron. Then she repeated the spell at herself, just in case. The whole Common Room gasped and waited, holding their breath, for what would happen next.

To say that _nothing_ happened, would have been slightly exaggerative. The minute the incantation was uttered, Ron's robes shortened by several inches and his schoolbag's seam burst open letting all the books and parchments spill to the floor. Hermione felt her hair sprang free from it's knot and simultaneously remembered that she had, in the morning, hidden a large, ugly pimple on her forehead with a small glamour-spell. Now it probably shined like a traffic light. People were laughing and Seamus started to joke about Ron's too short robes, but others told him to be quiet, because they wanted to hear what Ron would say. They didn't have to wait for long.

"What the bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron was beet-red and flustered. "Are you completely mad?! What's the matter with you?"

No, there was no more admiration in his eyes. It had been a spell, just a stupid, disgusting spell. Ron didn't really think she looked gorgeous and why would he? Her hair was worse than Medusa's and there was a pimple size of a small hippogriff on her forehead. Suddenly, Hermione felt exhausted and really, really sad.

"Yes, I guess I am. Mad. I must be. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." She was near tears and wanted nothing but to go to her room and cry herself to sleep, but the danger wasn't over, yet. "Harry? You are not going anywhere anymore, are you?"

"What?"

"You are going to stay here in the Common Room?"

"Well...I guess so." Harry was looking at her weirdly. Everybody was looking at her weirdly. She couldn't let it bother her.

"Good. Please, don't leave here tonight. Make sure Ron doesn't, either."

"What? Me? Why?" Ron stuttered.

"Please, Ron, please," she was pleading now and her voice was breaking. "I'm so sorry for this all, I really am. I can't explain, not yet, but please, don't leave the Common Room tonight. Promise me, will you?"

"Why should I promise you anything? Look at me! Look at what you did to my robes!" He was parading his ankles that were clearly visible, as the robes hardly reached his shins, now. He looked ridiculous and she loved him and he didn't love her and he probably wanted to leave the Common Room to go to see his _Hufflepuff _girlfriend and he couldn't go!

"Ron! Please!" Suddenly, the tears she had been holding spilled free. Ron looked at her, alarmed.

"Hermione, what's the matter? Don't cry! I won't go anywhere, I promise! Are you sick? Or hurt?"

She couldn't take the concern in his eyes. "No, I'm just tired. I'm fine. This whole day has been....I don't know. I just...thank you. Thank you, Harry. I'm sorry. I'll just go to bed, I really need to sleep."

She avoided all the eyes clearing her way through the crowd towards the stairs and her room. She had never been so happy to have her own room than when she finally crossed the threshold. She closed the door behind her and cast a silencing spell at it, more to avert hearing the voices from the Common Room than to prevent them from listening her. She really didn't want to hear what the Gryffindor students had to say about their Head Girl. They probably all believed her to be completely insane, now.

To think that she had been so scared of the possible humiliation of confessing her feeling to Ron. How much worse had she humiliated herself with this ridiculous scheme? Frolicking around at night with Harry's invisibility cloak, letting evil paintings loose, jumping with paranoia the whole day long, attacking first-year students in the hallways, launching an assault on the Fat Lady, demanding Ron to tell how he thought of her looks, casting _Finite Incantatum_ at both Ron and herself, threatening her best friends not to leave the Common Room....and most of it in front of half the school! Uh huh, quite an impressive list of achievements for the last forty-eight hours.

Hermione was miserable, but she sure as hell didn't want to cry and whine tonight, again. Furious at herself, at the Fat Lady, at Derek, at Ron, at everybody, she paced her room, occasionally kicking the wall or some unfortunate garment that had been left lying on the floor.

"Damn! Damn! Damn! I hate myself! I hate life! I hate Hogwarts! I hate hormones, and handsome best friends and art, all art there is! No more art galleries for me, never! All the painters should be burnt alive!" She carried on, cursing every painter she could name, and being Hermione Granger, she could name quite a many. She didn't even care if there were Muggles; at the moment, all the painters were the same: eeeeevil. "Matisse! Van Gogh! Monet! Manet! Munch! Renoir! Picasso! Van Dyck! Da Vinci!" Each of the names was emphasized with a kick or a throw.

Finally, exhausted after her day and her rant and incapable of thinking of any other artists, Hermione threw herself on the bed. Something was poking her under her back. Frustrated, she reached for the irritating object – and came face to face with a very familiar witch.

Melasina Charmeuse smirked her self-satisfied smile at Hermione and the footnotes in the bottom of the page 261 of _Hogwarts, a History_ were shifting and flicking tantalisingly. Hermione was about to throw the book to the wall, but she stopped herself abruptly in the middle of the throw. Melasina Charmeuse was so smug and confident that it reminded Hermione how devious and clever Derek had been and how deceiving the Fat Lady was. They all seemed like people who enjoyed elaborate schemes and complicated enchantments. Could they really have attacked Ron or her with a spell that was countered with a mere _Finite Incantatum_?

No! That was impossible! After all, how much havoc could they have caused in the past if their spells had been so easily dealt with. It had been a bluff! The Fat Lady didn't supposedly even have a wand! They were just trying to make her afraid and weak. Hah! Obviously, those evil little pieces of bad brushmanship didn't know one Hermione Granger! She would research, she would plan, she would act, she would attack, and there was nothing that could prevent her gaining victory over the sinister art of the castle of Hogwarts!

In the middle of her victory march, which consisted of taking out sharpened quills and piles of parchment as well as all her books that might help, Hermione realized something else, too. Something that filled her with a lovely warm tingling feeling. Something she didn't dare to think too closely, but only let it roam, unfocused, in the background of her mind: _If Ron wasn't under any spell, then he meant it when he said I was bloody gorgeous._

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**a/n: **Now, at last, there's some hope in the horizon. Way to go, Hermione! The next chapter will probably be the last, if it doesn't do some weird swelling-stunt that my chapters sometimes tend to do.

_Orangetabby_ – Well, yes, the story didn't start as a humorous one, but it seems to gain more of that kind of characters as I go on....and I'm always been the kind of sadist that believes there's a lot of humor for _others_ in situations, where the actual people experiencing them don't see anything funny at all. lol.

_Lady Rach - _I'm very proud to have gotten you stressed! Hopefully this chapter wasn't too much for your heart!

_Susan D – _Thanks for your opinion! No 17 alternative endings to come. Instead, I think I know now how it will end J

_ProudMuggleGirl – _Hermione's thoughts about Hufflepuffs are totally her own and unfortunately very heavily biased. I see that the Gryffindors are more timid to approach Ron because of Hermione and the Slytherins because of the House feud. That leaves the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, and Hermione is seeing them in a very bad light solely because of their interest in Ron. Hufflepuffs maybe still in a worse light, as she herself could have been sorted into Ravenclaw. I wouldn't really take Hermione's view of the situation as the absolute or objective truth ;) I also believe that "practising" with flirting is very normal amongst any adolescent girls and it doesn't necessarily mean that the girl is a slag. I myself have also always thought that there are maybe most possibilities for variation in being a Hufflepuff. Thank you for your insight, and hopefully this explained my point, here.(Which really wasn't to abuse the Hufflepuffs in any way;)

Many, many thanks for all of your reviews! I just love to hear from you! Please, do tell me how you liked this chapter! All comments and constructive critisism are very welcome!


	8. Resolutions and Sneaky Moves

a/n: Sorry, this time it took a longer time to get the chapter together. I had some troubles with this, and I'm actually not certain of it all, yet, either. Thank you all so much for your reviews, and remember, also criticism and comments are very welcome! This isn't the last chapter. I was going to put it all into this chapter, but then you would have had to wait even longer. So, here it is:

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**Resolutions and Sneaky Moves**

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_In the middle of her victory march, which consisted of taking out sharpened quills and piles of parchment as well as all her books that might help, Hermione realized something else, too. Something that filled her with a lovely warm tingling feeling. Something she didn't dare to think too closely, but only let it roam, unfocused, in the background of her mind: If Ron wasn't under any spell, then he meant it when he said I was bloody gorgeous._

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Hermione Granger was doing what she did best.: research. Her ballpoint pen she had finally opted for instead of the regulated quill, was hurriedly scribbling tiny, slightly uneven notes in a little blue notebook. Even though she normally always used a quill, ink and parchment when taking notes (just to truly adjust to the wizarding culture, in a way one uses chopsticks in a Chinese restaurant), when feeling particularly agitated, she often chose the less elaborate and less messy Muggle style of penmanship.This was one of those moments.

With her research and her notes and the way her books bowed to her will, she was gaining confidence. The thrill of finally feeling like being in charge of this frustrating situation with the evil portraits elevated her and filled her with energy. Each logical step she made, each little background check she managed, each obscure comment she easily interpreted left her more contained, more relaxed; and still she was energized, full of sizzling power, ready to tackle anything.

She had suspected for a while that some people could actually get high on knowledge, and she was obviously one of the lucky.

She didn't want to face her Housemates and leave her room for the Library and at first, she hadn't been sure how she could research with her meager collection of a few hundred books. Then she had realized Melasina Charmeuse wasn't the only witch lurking inside _Hogwarts, a History._

Melasina Charmeuse could maybe easily move from page to page, trying to taunt Hermione with her winks and knowing grins, but so could the other habitants of the Head Girl's favourite book, and even though they weren't really able to interact with Hermione otherwise than by footnotes and an occasional wave, it seemed they had no trouble whatsoever in communicating with each other.

Apparently, Melasina wasn't very well liked, at least not amongst the witches occupying _Hogwarts, a History_. After a while, instead of growing agitated when seeing the smugly smiling Melasina, Hermione only began to anticipate, with a rising interest, who would it be this time to forcefully evict the scheming witch from the page she was trying to read.

After each eviction, the witches and occasionally also the wizards in the book would enlighten Hermione of the ways suitable for dealing with unruly portraits. She was relieved and exhilarated to, once again, find true advice and comfort in her favourite book, and she devoured all the offered information anxiously.

Finally, she was ready. The solution was a simple one, really. It was only a question of taking matters into her own hands, of gaining control of her own life and her own emotions. There was nothing else to it.

According to the data she had collected during the six uninterrupted hours of research, the great conspirators of Hogwart's really didn't have any power over people who weren't afraid of taking risks and revealing their emotions. Their whole shceme was founded on the people's selfish will not to place themselves in a position where they might face rejection or humiliation.

She had learnt her lesson. After the past day filled with utter humiliation, she could face some more, if it was to save others from the sinister art. She felt proud of herself over genuinely having such unselfish thoughts, but in the back of her mind she knew she wouldn't have been so eager to take action had it not been Ron who was in danger. Furthermore, she would hardly have been so ready to take the particular _way_ of action she was contemplating, had Ron not said those few anything but immaculate words that had made her tingle pleasantly with hope.

Yes, she maybe wouldn't have been so ready to fulfill her present plan, if she hadn't had that tiniest bit of tingle fluttering away inside her stomach – or was it her chest? It was hard to accurately place a tingle, particularly when she daren't really acknowledge it for the fear of it disappearing under further scrutiny.

She rehearsed in front of her mirror. She knew she would have to act very self-assured and weaken Derek's confidence before she could even hope to influence the infuriating man. At times like this, Hermione really longed for Muggle mirrors. Rehearsing stuff in front of a mirror was normally done to avoid humiliating oneself in front of an audience, not to hear witty commentary from one's own reflection. Unfortunately, wizarding mirrors didn't seem to grasp the concept of privacy very well.

"That was better than the last one, honey! I would have believed you, if you hadn't been wringing your hands together so nervously. Try it again!"

Yes, wizarding mirrors apparently not only misunderstood the term seclusion, but also possessed an alarming amount of personal traits more adequate to a strict elocution coach.

"You simply must have assistance, Hermione. It would make the whole speech so much more believable, wouldn't you think so?"

"Stating the obvious, aren't we?" Hermione replied sarcastically. She knew very well she needed assistance, and more accurately, a certain person's assistance. And she had to take action now!

Carefully, Hermione approached the door. She pressed her ear against it for a moment, before remembering she was a witch. Then she cast a spying spell at the door and listened hard. The spying spell didn't work like Extendable Ears, it only let her hear everything exactly as she would have, had there not been the door between her and the Common Room. So she had to listen very hard to be sure no-one was up anymore. It wasn't very likely that they were, as it was, after all, almost one o'clock and a school night, but she didn't want to take any unnecessary risks.

After a quarter of an hour of concentrated listening, Hermione gathered Harry's cloak under her arm and prepared to do some serious sneaking. It wasn't going to be easy. She would have to avoid alerting not only the girls in the neighbouring rooms, but also the Fat Lady and, most difficultly, the boy's in the Seventh Year Boys' dorm. Harry, in particular, was nowadays known as a very light sleeper. Still, she had to do it – she truly needed assistance.

Almost silently, Hermione crept down the stairs. The Common Room was dark, only dying embers in the fireplace gave it any light. She didn't want to light her wand, though. It was better to get used to the dark, for she certainly wasn't going to _lumos_ up a room with a sleeping Harry in it. Carefully, she took the last step – and it creaked.

The sound echoed ominously in the silence of the empty room. Hermione froze, listened, and when she didn't hear a thing, continued to advance cautiously. Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed something - no, someone - moving.

"Hermione?" The voice was very familiar. She could have recognized it anywhere.

"Ron?"

"Look, Hermione," he began, his voice hoarse as if he had just waken up, "if _we_ can't leave the dorms, neither can you. You know something, don't you? There's no bloody way I'm going to let you handle this by yourself, nevermind what it is!"

She should have guessed. It was such a _Ron_-thing to do, trying to protect her even when he didn't know the threat. Well, it saved her an excursion to the Seventh Year Boys' room. Hermione took a deep breath and collected all of her determination. Now was the time. She wouldn't chicken out now.

"Ron," she forced herself to meet his eyes, "I actually need your help. I've done something...stupid." Ron was looking at her, with a mixture of bemusement and alarm on his face and his gaze made her, once again, stumble with her words. "I – I...last night, I went to meet someone and it was a...mistake. I did something I shouldn't have done...I _released _something that should have stayed restricted. Now I have to fix it, before my mistake will harm others."

"What did he do to you? It was that Derek fellow, wasn't it?" For some reason, Ron wasn't yelling or even blushing. Instead, he was pale and his voice was low and his words carefully articulated. Hermione suddenly realized he sounded like a full-grown man. He shouldn't have, he was only seventeen years old, for Heaven's sake.

He should have sounded like a teenager he was, he should have acted like one. He shouldn't have had that solemn tilt in his voice, that sad resignation and heavy threat molded weirdly together. She didn't want to hear it. She had to break through his act. Instinctively, she called up her familiar bossy conduct.

"No, Ron, it's nothing like that! You don't understand at all! I have to meet Derek again, now-"

She didn't get any further, because now he _did _rise his voice: "What?! Now? It's one bloody o'clock, Hermione! You are not going to meet some bloke who hurt you, certainly not at one o'clock at night! I won't let you!"

"But I'm not going alone, Ron. You are coming with me."

"What?! If you want to get his face pummelled in, then I'll come!"

"You couldn't pummell his face in, Ron," Hermione giggled softly, partly at the thought of Ron getting into a fistfight with a painting, partly of relief, because now he was again acting like the quick-tempered youngster he was supposed to be. Too late, she realized her laughter could have been interpreted in a wrong way – and sure, by the certain red-head, it had.

"I couldn't? Yeah, sure, I'm not up to it! You can handle it all by yourself, don't you? I can't leave the dorms, _nooo_, but you can! You can deal with all the mysterious jerks, even if you freak out and try to hex firsties in the corridors if they happen to called Derek! Yeah, you don't need nobody!"

"Ron-" Again, she was interrupted and apparently, her soothing voice didn't work any better than her previous attempt at humour.

"Don't you _Ron _me, Hermione!" He was shouting first, but then seemed to remember what time it was and his voice changed into a vehement hiss. "What do you want me there for, huh? To watch you two snog?!"

Hearing the ludicrous accusation, Hermione gasped and let go of Harry's cloak. The cloth flowed to the floor and the soft silky sound caught Ron's attention. "You took Harry's cloak again? For me, huh? Sure, you don't want him to see me! Why do you need me there, Hermione? Why? To evaluate his _performance_? Or yours? D'you need some pointers? Not so sure if you can get an Outstanding, in this subject? Well, you haven't had any_ practice_, have you now? Nooo, 'cause no-one's good enough for you!"

She felt like hitting him, or crying, or shouting aloud, or simply running back to her room. Most of all, the lovely tingle she had so devoutly nurtured had totally vanished. In its place, there was only an almost tangible void, radiating misery. She felt as if she was drowning inside herself, the flood of sadness actually rising from her gut into her lungs and suffocating her.

But she couldn't give up. Not now. Especially if there wasn't any hope whatsoever that Ron could return her feelings. If he didn't, the threat the paintings presented was even worse. She couldn't stand the idea of him loving her when she would know there wasn't any truth in his affection. She couldn't stand the idea of depriving him of his true feelings, of wronging him like that.

Nevermind how Ron had just hurt her, Hermione Granger was a loyal friend, who placed the well-being of her friends above her own needs. Even if the persuasion of the said friends demanded harsh moves.

"Shut it, Ronald Weasley! You don't understand it at all! This is serious! I....dammit, I'll show you!"

She wasn't sure if it was her cursing or the tears that, again, were running on her face, that made him shut up. He was still sullen and frowning, but he was silent, and Hermione took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from breaking.

"Let's go, then."

Ron didn't answer, but started towards the Fat Lady. Before he had taken a full step, Hermione grabbed his sleeve.

"No! Don't you remember what she did the last time!"

"How are we going to get out, then?"

"Haven't I told you dozens of times, that you really should read _Hogwarts, a History?"_

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**a/n: **There. How are they going to get out of the Gryffindor Tower? What is the action Hermione is planning to take? Why does she need assistance? Will the tingle return? How will Ron react to Derek? Why on earth couldn't Hermione explain it right away? The final chapter will hopefully reveal it all (except maybe Hermione's occasional stupidity, that's only human, isn't it?). Stay tuned!

And please, tell me how you found this chapter! I'm a bit uncertain about the fight....and if you have some questions you feel should get answered in the end, please let me know! I really don't want to overlook some important aspect. Thank you!

_salemwitch_ – thank you! And I really appreciate you reading also the Stove. There I actually dealt with some issues....;)

_FetishFemale_ – Yeah, I certainly also hope the ending won't suck ;)

_dancingirl3 – _Um...I'm afraid Hermione had occupied my brain and the result is somehow confusing...lol...I'm trying to improve the part of confusion that's due to my personal troubles with the English language (not a native, you see...)


	9. The Confrontation with the Evil Portrait...

**a/n: **I'm awfully sorry that it took such a long time to update, and this still isn't the final chapter! Sorry! The whole story is now almost finished, but it kept getting longer and longer and so I decided to cut it half, as there are a few things I want to think about in the end and didn't want to keep you waiting for longer. So, hopefully you like this chapter, and the next one will definitely be the last!

Many thanks for your encouraging reviews. I'm very interested to know how you like this chapter and especially Ron and Hermione's interaction here. At first, I had a lot of difficulties in writing this, but now I actually like it, myself.

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**The Confrontation with the Evil Portrait of Doom**

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_"Shut it, Ronald Weasley! You don't understand it at all! This is serious! I...dammit, I'll show you!"_

_She wasn't sure if it was her cursing or the tears that, again, were running on her face, that made him shut up. He was still sullen and frowning, but he was silent, and Hermione took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from breaking._

_"Let's go, then."_

_Ron didn't answer, but started towards the Fat Lady. Before he had taken a full step, Hermione grabbed his sleeve._

_"No! Don't you remember what she did the last time!"_

_"How are we going to get out, then?" _

_"Haven't I told you dozens of times, you really should read Hogwarts, a History?"_

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For a while, Hermione felt almost normal. Once again, she was instructing Ron and doing so, she could nearly forgot the feeling of drowning inside of her. She went to the fireplace, drew her wand and, a little bit smugly, tapped the mantelpiece twice whispering: "_Vereor litterae"._ Immediately, the tiles rearranged themselves very much like they did at the entrance to the Diagon Alley, and half of the fireplace disappeared from the place of a narrow passageway lighted by dim torches.

"What?" Ron sputtered.

"I told you you should read the book, Ron."

"_Hogwarts, a History_ told you how to get out of the Gryffindor Tower in secret! How come you never said nothing to us? How many times have you sneaked off like this?" At first, Ron had sounded merely intrigued, but when he got to the last of his questions his face was all red and he was scowling angrily.

"I only learnt this a couple of hours ago," Hermione snapped. "I guess the book doesn't leak information until it's really needed."

"So you really need to see this _Derek_?"

"Yes, I do. And stop twisting your face, Ron. I said you didn't understand what this is all about."

"I maybe would if you explained."

"I told I'd show you, didn't I?" She was frustrated and quite pissed off. Why could Ron never _listen_ and be _patient_? "Would you just follow me?"

"Okay..." He was sulking, but at least he was doing it silently. Hermione thought it was good enough. The most important thing was to get Ron to Derek. Preferably before the evil piece of art had a chance to fulfill his nefarious plans.

The dimly lit corridor led them to the small hall in front of the transfiguration classroom. Hermione started to fold out Harry's cloak when it suddenly struck her: she would have to share the cloak with Ron. Ron, who once again was all jealous without showing any marks of being in love. Ron, who probably never would show any marks of love, at least not towards her, at least not without fulfilled nefarious plans. Ron, who was all _big _and _warm _and _manly_. Ron, who would get much too close to Hermione for her mental health, when they both were to get under the cloak.

"Um...we'll have to use the cloak," Hermione said, unnecessarily, as she was already holding the cloak in front of them.

"Okay."

It was awkward, very awkward to get settled under the cloak. They both were trying to avoid touching each other, but it was impossible. Hermione felt her spine stiffening when Ron's large hand brushed against her hip, but she was still disappointed when he immediately pulled his hand away.

"Sorry."

"It's..it's cramped here."

"Yeah." The word came out as a puff and Ron's breath tickled Hermione's neck. She stiffened again, and he shifted as far away of her as he could under the cloak.

"Well." She swallowed. "Let's go then. It's on the fourth floor."

"It?"

"Him. He is."

"Oh."

Moving under the cloak together was a dozen times more awkward than just standing still under it. How on earth had they managed to do it without physical contact before? As she thought of it, Hermione realized they hadn't. Before the contact just hadn't been painful or unwanted. Even during the most dangerous and adventurous situations, a small part of Hermione had kept track of a _boy_ beside her, accidentally brushing against her. She had noticed when it was Harry, and though she had only ever had a tiniest, fleeting romantic notion about Harry, it had still been exciting and a little bit arousing. When it had been Ron whose body had touched hers, whose shoulder had, by chance, bumped against hers, she had liked to imagine it hadn't happened by accident at all.

Now, every time they made a tiniest contact, both would draw away. It felt like a rejection, maybe even Rejection. At least it proved Ron wasn't under the Fat Lady's love-spell, Hermione consoled herself. Not a very good consolation, that was.

It seemed to take forever to reach the fourth floor and still longer to finally arrive at the start of the eight corridor on the left. Hermione stopped abruptly and let out the breath she had been very much aware of holding. Then she took a new, deep one . The time had come.

"Hey?" Ron whispered. "Why did you stop?"

"Shhh! We are here."

"Where's he, then?"

"I told you to be quiet! He's dangerous. Let me do the talking, and if he points his wand at you, don't try to hex him back, just dodge and run."

"I can take him." The words were confident, but Hermione could feel Ron's nervousness as his body tensed beside her.

"Please, Ron! It won't be a normal hex, I don't know how to counter it."

"You don't?" His voice wavered hardly noticeably.

"No. So please, promise me!"

"And if he attacks you?" Now his voice was determined – or less nicely put, stubborn – once again.

"He won't." Hermione knew it was a lie, Derek had tried to curse her before, and apparently the painted person's spell would work on either Ron or her, but she was at least prepared. Ron wasn't and Hermione had to make sure he would take the situation seriously enough. "Promise me. Please."

She felt, rather than saw him nodding solemnly and sensed him shifting his hand towards his wand. Apparently, Ron had finally realized this wasn't only about some unfortunately ended clandestine affair on Hermione's part. Once again, Hermione noticed she had forgot to breath properly. It was a detached observation, as if it really didn't matter whether she respired or not, but rationally she knew it did, and so she concentrated on inhaling deeply and exhaling calmly and repeating the process over and over again, as it was supposed to be done to maintain life.

After she felt she had gotten down the breathing part of her act, she was finally ready to carry on. Or actually, she wasn't anymore ready than she had been a moment ago, but at least she wasn't turning blue from lack of oxygen. That alone had to be enough of encouragement for her to take action. It was a marvel Ron had just waited patiently beside her for all this time.

"Hermione?" Well, maybe not so patiently. It sounded as if Ron had tried to get her attention for a while already.

"I'm going to reveal us now. Remember, don't say a word, no matter what happens. Just follow my lead." And then she removed the cloak.

"Well, well well, little lady. I knew you would change your mind." Derek's voice was creeping along her spine, slyly attempting to break her defences. "And you brought your young man along. How very considerate of you." Then the man in the painting did what Hermione had been sure he would do: he drew his wand. "Shall we proceed, then?"

"No! Wait!" Now it was time to look confident, sound confident and lie convincingly. Except that before she managed to do more than shout in alarm, _Ron_ took action.

_"Expelliarmus!" _the red-headed Gryffindor yelled and Captain O'Samuelson's wand flew swiftly from his hand and into Ron's grasp. Hermione gasped. How come she hadn't thought of that? Then she sobered. How come Headmaster Dippet or Dumbledore hadn't thought of that? Her inner question was answered when Ron's victorious grin died on his face. The wand he had been holding in his hand vanished into thin air.

Derek's gleefully malicious laughter - how did it manage to combine both those attributes- rang in the corridor. "You haven't done your research, young man! _I _command the world inside of my painting! I can, if I so wish, hand you my wand, but without my wish it stays right here with me, where it belongs." He was teasingly twirling the wand in his hand. "You can only expel the visual idea of my wand, and like the person in your world who is painted, my wand here does not suffer when it has it's visual image replicated. The only way you can really affect either me or my wand is to step into my painting, into my world and duel with me properly. Would you wish to do so?"

Ron took a hasty step forward, ready to take the challenge, his ears red with anger, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve. "Ron! He's trying to trick you! If you step inside the painting, you'll become two-dimensional. You won't be able to see or move properly, you might even suffocate!"

Ron stopped dead, paling when Hermione's hurried whisper registered in his mind. "Well, well, well...the little lady _has_ done her research, I see. Good for you, young man!" Derek's voice was so utterly cheerful and encouraging that Hermione felt sick. She felt more sick, though, when the man in the painting brandished his wand again and pointed it straight at Ron. "Well, now as we have dealt with these little misunderstandings, I'll ask again: Shall we proceed?"

"No!" Hermione was quick to utter and kept her hand firmly on Ron's arm to prevent him from doing anything rash. "There's no need for that anymore." She collected all of her Gryffindor courage and looked straight into the painting's eyes. "As you saw, he is very protective of me. That's not only because we are friends." Hermione could feel Ron blushing violently beside her. It was almost as if his blush would have raised his actual body temperature with several degrees. She felt her own face heating up as well, but ignored it, hoping it would just make her story more believable. "You see, yesterday I was very anxious about having met you and discussed the spell you wanted to cast on Ron. And...and Ron noticed my...discomfort and...one thing led to another...and well...we are together now, romantically, so there's no need for your spell anymore!"

She couldn't look at Ron. She knew it probably would have been sensible to enlighten him of her fabulous plan in advance, but she just hadn't had the courage to do so. Even now, she could only address a painting when clearly implying her love for her best friend. At least she was pretty sure she had clearly implied how she felt about Ron. Even someone so thick as the red-head should have been able to get it. And that was why Hermione couldn't look at Ron. Instead, she carried on:

"So, he loves me already and I love him and I really prefer the real sentiment over the artificial one, no matter how skillfully manufactured, no offence or anything, and I really, really appreciate your concern and all the effort you went through for me, even if I didn't overly like the methods you wanted to use, but as none of it is necessary now, we'll just be leaving, so good-bye!"

She still didn't look at Ron, she didn't even glance at him, only blindly reached for his hand and prepared to run away. She had planned something more eloquent, sure, but in her current state of mind she didn't think she'd manage. Ron's presence always did this to her. She couldn't understand how she had been able to trick Umbridge so calmly in her fifth year and still sound so unconvincing now, when it even wasn't a question of life and death.

"Oh no! Don't you go anywhere, little lady!" Derek's amused voice caught her unguarded. "I think you should have informed your young man about your plan in advance, dear. His face isn't the most hard to read and, unfortunately for you, he seems to have been totally ignorant of your allegedly tender relationship."

From some unknown place inside of her, Hermione felt words and actions raising. Maybe she _needed _a truly dangerous situation before she could be courageous and cunning. She heard herself saying flippantly: "It's just all new to Ron, and I didn't tell him about you. He is so very shy to reveal his feelingsin front ofstrangers, aren't you, honey?" Hermione almost grimaced, she knew the endearment didn't sound at all like her, but she smiled winningly instead and somehow, not realizing how, turned to Ron, lifted her hand to softly caress his cheek and raised on her tiptoes to kiss him straight on the mouth.

It wasn't at all like she had imagined their first kiss to be. She had thought it would maybe be awkward and the romance novels she had read had made her expect bumping of noses (especially as Ron's nose was exceptionally long), but first of all, she had never thought it would be _her_ that initiated the kiss, and secondly, it had never, ever occurred to her that he wouldn't kiss her back.

Ron didn't kiss her back. His lips were chopped and dry and warm and his cheek was flushed and slightly sweaty and he didn't kiss her back. Hermione's lips felt too big and too moist all of a sudden. Her mouth seemed to be full of saliva. No wonder Ron didn't kiss back. Who would want to kiss a girl that kissed so badly as her? She remembered Ron's scathing words_: Not so sure if you can get an Outstanding, in this subject? Well, you haven't had any practice, have you now? Nooo, 'cause no-one's good enough for you!_ It was true, she hadn't had any practise, and that was why she sucked at kissing.

She still clung to Ron, kept her lips glued on his mouth, not knowing what to do with them and thus only letting them stay still against his. "I didn't think you would be one for such public displays, little lady." Derek's mocking voice gave her a chance to let go of Ron. She drew back, not needing to act bashful. She was, genuinely so.

"I wouldn't be...it's just that I had to convince you." She swallowed. Her mouth still felt like it was full of saliva.

"And you reckon that this...let's put it nicely...pathetic attempt at kissing convinced me? Little lady, little lady, what do you take me for – a Hufflepuff? You simply have no proper respect for my services and try to run away. Luckily, I'll help you even when you yourself have no sense to ask for it." For the third time the looming wand raised. Hermione couldn't help it, in her head an eerie voice echoed over and over again: _three times the charm three times the charm three times the charm..._

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**a/n: **Is it? Will Derek finally hex them? Why didn't Ron kiss back? How will he react afterwards? Is Hermione's plan really that simple? What will happen? What! I know, you don't...reviews keep your writer happy!

I actually feel a little strange when attempting to write fluff...angst is more my cup of tea...was the bit of fluff okay, here? The final chapter will be up next week, I promise! Oh, and BTW, the spell in the beginning means, according to the Latin on-line dictionary, something like "Respect for Literature".


	10. A PopQuiz in Affection

**a/n: **Okay, it's here, at last! I **did** promise it would be ready last week, and actually I finished it yesterday, so I almost fulfilled my promise. And this is the longest chapter so far. Happy? I really hope you like this ending! I'm not so sure about it myself, but somehow it just came out this way.

Thank you for your reviews, and sorry for the bad bad Latin. I guess I shouldn't have trusted the on-line dictionary. It seemed very trustworthy…perhaps I'm gullible. Sorry.

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**A Pop-quiz in Affection**

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_"And you reckon that this...let's put it nicely...pathetic attempt at kissing convinced me? Little lady, little lady, what do you take me for – a Hufflepuff? You simply can't properly respect my services and thus try to run away. Luckily, I'll help you even when you yourself have no sense to ask for it." For the third time the looming wand raised. Hermione couldn't help it, in her head an eerie voice echoed over and over again: three times the charm three times the charm three times the charm... _

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"It's really not needed, thanks." It was Ron! His voice didn't sound bashful or unconvincing or angry or shocked or anything Hermione would have expected it to sound like. It was calm and collected and very...mature. There was even a hint of gentle amusement in it, when he continued: "As you guessed, Hermione really isn't one for public displays. She _does_ kiss much better in private." Nonchalantly – how could he act nonchalantly! – Ron wrapped his long arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her to him. "I think we've all over-reacted a bit, here. I don't know all of it, but I guess I should thank you for your interference, 'cause I wouldn't have gotten together with Hermione, otherwise. So, thanks a bunch and all that, but I don't think we need any spells anymore."

What had happened, here? Was this Ron? The Ron who always blushed and stuttered when someone _next_ to him talked about feelings? How was _she_ reduced to this blabbering, unconvincing idiot, and Ron, the hot-tempered, never-ahead-thinking Ron was the one in charge of the situation?

The pictures in _Hogwarts, a History_ had advised that the key to conquering unruly portraits was to inform them convincingly and firmly enough that their interference wasn't needed. As the portraits only helped when asked to help, they were also supposed to stop helping when asked to do so. The only difficulty in it was that one had to be truly, honestly convincing, and support their claim of not needing assistance with some tangible evidence.

Ron had been Hermione's tangible evidence. Tangible, lanky and red-headed evidence. According to her plan, she would have presented Ron, told Derek they were in love without his help and thus disarmed the portrait. But somehow Derek had just dismissed her assurances and then Ron had sounded much more believable than Hermione, even though the redhead should have been totally flabbergasted over the whole situation.

At the very moment, Captain Derek O'Samuelson was meticulously scrutinizing the confident-looking young man in front of him. It could not have been told whether he noticed the smallest little tremble of Ron's hand wrapped around Hermione's waist. He maybe didn't see the tips of Ron's ears glowing red. It was wholly possible that he didn't see, with his portrait-sight, even if the shine of the said ears almost competed with an adequate _lumos_-spell. And if Derek didn't notice the ears, it was entirely believable he also overlooked Hermione's expression of complete surprise and her rigid posture.

He_ must_ have missed all these signs of awkwardness and lies, as after a few minutes of scrutiny, he smiled a lazy, all-too-knowing smile and said: "Well, well, well...it seems you really do not need my services anymore. I am so happy to have been of assistance, little lady, young man."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, overwhelming relief sweeping over her. They weren't to get hexed! They were safe! She couldn't wait to get out of the painting's sight and suddenly, Ron found himself in the position that had become painfully familiar during the past day: dragged along by running Hermione. Only Derek's chuckles followed them, no spells or hexes.

When they arrived at the end of the corridor, Hermione stopped dead. Glancing hurriedly at the portrait in the corridor's other end, she whispered: "Cover me. Stand between him and me!" Ron could only do as he was told, and Hermione drew her wand, flicked it swiftly across the corridor and muttered a few Latin words. A glowing line appeared on the floor, closing the passageway off. It reminded Ron of something.

"Hey! Is that what I think it is?"

Hermione was looking smug. "Yes. An age-restriction line. I honestly can't believe Dumbledore didn't think of it. This way, only people over nineteen years old can cross the line and see Derek. The students are safe and the Professors still have access." Then Hermione remembered what had just happened, what she had done, what Ron now knew. Her smug expression faltered and she lowered her gaze to the floor, mumbled something incoherent and started hurriedly towards the Gryffindor Tower. Ron's hand on her shoulder didn't only stop her, it made her jump.

"Hey," he said softly, "didn't you forget something?" He was holding Harry's cloak. There was no way Hermione was going to get under the cloak with Ron again, absolutely no way!

"Um...I don't think we'll need it."

"Maybe we won't. Maybe I just...um..._like_ to...bugger!" Ron's smoothness had seemingly vanished together with the danger. Somehow, it made Hermione feel safer and more confident when Ron wasn't so sure of himself. She only had a moment to bask in the familiar, secure feeling, as Ron collected himself and asked, quite bluntly and abruptly: "So that was Derek?"

"Yes."

"There never was any real bloke you sneaked off to meet?" Now there was a hint of self-satisfied glee in his voice. Hermione almost wanted to lie, just to show him, but she was still embarrassed and couldn't concentrate enough to pull off any kind of deceit.

"Well...no."

"And you asked romantic advice from a portrait?" This question sounded somehow condescending and reprimanding, very much like Hermione's own voice when Ron did or said something naive or stupid.

"How do you know if I did?"

"Hermione. That bloke wanted to cast a love-spell on us. Everybody knows magical portraits aren't capable of doing anything to you without you asking for it. After you ask, they might get quite crazy with their efforts to help. It can get nasty."

"Oh."

"So...um...why did you ask his help?"

"Isn't that obvious?" She meant it to be scathing, but it came out weak and almost pleading. Ron watched Hermione who, for once, looked uncertain and frightened. Then his features softened at the same time as his ears got still redder.

"Hermione. You wanted me to lo-...to like you?"

She only nodded, miserable and not raising her eyes from the floor.

"Oh. And...um...what was that spell supposed to do, then?"

She didn't want to answer, she really didn't. She had to, though. Ron deserved to know. Even if he could have, still one more time, been a thick-head, even if he could, even if he _should_ have ignored what she had involuntarily revealed; now that he had interpreted the situation correctly, he had the right to know it all.

"It was supposed to change your perspective of things...of me, my appearance...and your feelings towards me, so that you would think I was the prettiest girl there is and that you were...inlovewithme, even when you aren't, really. I'm sorry. I didn't know about wizarding portraits. I was awfully stupid. And...I'm really sorry that I kissed you. It must have been disgusting. You were right; I don't know how to kiss."

"You could...um...practise?" He just blurted that out, as if suggesting she should study for her N.E.W.T.S.

That was too much. Here she was, swallowing all the rest of her pride and apologising and grovelling – figuratively – at his feet and he had the audacity to mock her! He could have at least lain the kiss hadn't been so bad! "How dare you!" Her eyes were glistening with tears and she could hear them in her shaking voice. She tried to get away, but at some point, Ron had taken a firm hold of her shoulders and she couldn't escape. What humiliation!

"Hermione, listen to me! Please! I just...damn it! I meant I wanted to practise with you, okay!" He was almost shouting and it wasn't only his ears that were red, anymore.

"What?" Hermione sputtered. Had Derek managed to spell Ron after all? She tried to look into Ron's eyes and reached for her wand. Unfortunately, Ron noticed what she was doing, and with uncharacteristic perception, interpreted her actions correctly.

"Oh no, Hermione, you are not going to cast _Finite Incantatum_ again!" He grabbed her right wrist and prevented her from drawing her wand. "_That's_ what it was all about in the Common Room, eh? The Fat Lady was in with it and when I told you I think you look bloody gorgeous, you immediately concluded I was hexed?"

She couldn't even nod, but apparently her silence spoke three-page monologues. Ron sighed resignedly, let go of her wrist and tried to catch her eyes, holding her by the shoulders again "Now you listen to me, Hermione. I have...damn it, I have wanted to say this for a while, but I reckoned you weren't interested and, well, there were these other girls and..um...how can a bloke say no? It's just not polite, you know? Um...I mean you always say I shouldn't be rude! How am I supposed not to be rude and still reject them?"

In the middle of Ron's blabbering, Hermione suddenly realized he was telling the truth. The boy – man – really simply couldn't refuse the girls that asked him out. That wasn't even so unbelievable, because...well, it was Ron. Ron didn't do subtle. He probably couldn't even think of an answer between a straight rejection and total compliance. He was being...being...bloody polite and an idiot, not in love with those Hufflepuffs! And she, she could have done the same as them and asked him and he wouldn't have refused her either and she could have convinced him and...except that she was a really bad kisser with no experience whatsoever and Ron…was still talking.

"Um...it's just that...I really like you, without any spells...I mean, damn it, you probably won't believe me now...um...hey! I can prove it! You said the spell was supposed to make me think you were the prettiest girl there is?"

"Um...yes?"

"Hah! I don't think you are! I'm not hexed!" Ron was grinning triumphantly, and his smile faltered only a fraction when Hermione let out a small sniff.

"You..you don't think I'm pretty?" Had she been feeling more composed and calm, she maybe could have been able to see Ron's exclamation in correlation with his earlier confession. Now, in the tumultuous state of mind Derek and all that had happened had left her, she only heard Ron triumphantly exclaiming he thought she was ugly. Hermione had believed she had already reached to absolute peak of humiliation and heart-ache, but apparently, that hadn't been the case. _Now_ she had hit the proverbial bottom. Or so she thought, until Ron carried on:

"That's not what I said. What I said, " Ron was talking excitedly as if he had just realized something great and wanted to share it with her, too, "was that I don't think you are the _prettiest _girl there is. Even if I hadn't heard you complaining about it millions of times, I'd know that your hair is too bushy and your waist too thick and your legs too short and your eyebrows too fair for you to be a...classical beauty." Hermione sniffed again, biting her inner lip in a vain effort not to cry, and with a burst of strength that surprised both her and Ron, she pulled free of his grasp and took a swing at him, hard.

She missed, but it didn't stop her for trying again. She was truly crying now, but she didn't want to cry, she didn't want to be miserable. She would rather be angry as hell. With her fists, she pummelled the man in front of her everywhere she could reach. How could he? They were friends, weren't they? They were best friends! Even if he had all the girls he wanted and she had no one and she was ugly and a pitiful kisser and he had experience and great looks and she had been stupid and ignorant and childish and deserved everything bad that had happened, he still didn't have the right to mock her! How could he? It wasn't like Ron to be cruel, no, he was hot-tempered and could say nasty things when he was angry, but he was never deliberately cruel. Why was he now? Listing all her faults as if it was evidence why she wasn't good enough for him or any boy!

She cried and swung her arms, hitting his chest over and over again. She didn't even realize that Ron was blocking her hits. His arms would probably be bruised the next day, but he was being un-characteristically calm, as he managed to avoid most of Hermione's blows. Finally, he reached for her wrists and took a firm hold of both of them. She wriggled to get away, but it hurt too much, the way he was clenching her.

"You are hurting me."

"And that from a woman who just spent five minutes deliberately pummelling me." His voice was dry and he was slightly out of breath, but his hold of her wrists loosened a fraction. In middle of all her humiliation and anger and self-hatred, she still had time to notice he had called her _woman_ and it was oddly exciting.

"Let me go."

"Not before you listen."

"I don't have to stay here and listen to your insults, Ron!"

"I wasn't insulting you, Hermione!"

"You could have fooled me. Actually, you did. Could you, please, now let me go? I think I have been humiliated enough for one night."

"Hermione! I wasn't insulting you! Can't you just bloody _listen_!" He forced her to look at him and continued, visibly fighting to stay calm: "_Think_, Hermione! Just bloody _think!_ What did I just say, eh? Let's revise, shall we? You like revision. What did just Ron say? First, I told you I'd like to kiss you. Then, I told I meant what I said in the Common Room. _Then_, I saw you didn't believe me and thought I had been hexed, and that's why I wanted to prove you I wasn't. What I _said_ was that I didn't think you were the prettiest girl on earth. Of course you're not! I _didn't _say you are ugly. I _didn't say you weren't pretty!_ Damn it, Hermione! I said I love you for real, even if you look...yourself! You have a bushy hair, and I love it! You have short legs and I love them, too! Bloody hell, Hermione, only you can get mad when a bloke tries to confess his love for you!"

Hermione sniffed miserably, but then she smiled a little. "And only you can confess your love by listing the girl's all physical faults."

Ron blushed. "Um...sorry about that. I think you are bloody gorgeous, still."

"With my invisible eyebrows and extra pounds?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you have a nose that's a mile too long! And millions of freckles! And funny-looking ears!" She giggled.

"Yeah. But you like my freckles. Don't you?" There was a slightest bit of hesitation in his voice and Hermione couldn't help but giggle some more.

"Yes, I like your freckles." She was looking at Ron's freckles and his ears that were again all red. He had nice cheekbones, she decided. And she actually liked long noses and big ears. And his jaw was very...manly. And he was standing very near. And he was being very warm. And he had just told her he loved her. And wasn't that the moment when the guy traditionally kissed the girl? And she was a horrible kisser and if he kissed her now, when she hadn't had time to research and find some techniques to improve her kissing, or at least a chance to brush her teeth, he would probably change his mind about her. And now he was leaning in and he had this look in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, but could very well imagine the meaning of. She tried to pull away, but Ron didn't let her.

"Oh, no, Hermione, you don't."

"But I'm really a horrible kisser, I really am!"

"So, how are you going to ever learn, if you won't practise with me?" He was teasing her, but this was serious!

"I want to be prepared. Really, Ron, there is this book about ..." She knew she sounded awfully stupid, even before Ron chuckled at her. His laugh was low and breathy and Hermione felt goose bumps on her arms. She wanted him to kiss her, she did. She wanted him to kiss her and to pull her into his embrace and to hold her close and...she just didn't want to disappoint him.

"Hermione, there's no other girl like you, there really isn't." He was still laughing, and his hoarse laughter was exciting and foreign in her ears. And then he leaned in and softly kissed the corner of her mouth. Hermione tried to swallow the saliva in her mouth and to prepare. She tried to remember all she had ever read about kissing: something about nibbling and sucking and licking and the use of tongue and lips.It was like a professor would have suddenly announced a pop-quiz on a totally unfamiliar subject!

"Stop thinking, Hermione, stop thinking," Ron whispered and kissed the other corner of her mouth. What was it with these corners? Didn't he know how to aim? Or was it some trend in kissing and she should know how to respond? What had the book said!

Then his arms were around her and she was still closer to him, all of him, his strong, warm body pressed against her...breasts...and thighs...and she felt so warm everywhere, because of him, and he was so hard and solid and muscular. Of course she had known Ron was muscular, she had seen him without shirt several times and secretly enjoyed the view, but she had never before really thought how strong Ron had to be. She felt very small and frail and it felt nice... to feel weak and in the arms of someone strong. He was breathing heavily and she could feel his heart beating fast and it was exciting and...arousing, yes, arousing, and she flushed at the thought.

He was kissing her neck, now, and the goose bumps were spreading all over her spine and arms. His lips were so warm and still a bit chopped and she could feel his stubble. How come she had never really noticed that Ron was shaving? How did wizards shave? Did they use a spell or a razor? Or a potion? Was that nice smell an aftershave? Why didn't he kiss her lips? She wanted him to kiss her lips. And...oh...to continue kissing her neck, definitely to continue that.

And then she licked her neck, but that she didn't like, it felt wet and awkward, and she stiffened and turned her head a bit. He returned to kissing and she marvelled how he had known what she liked and what she didn't like. And then he was finally kissing her mouth and she attempted to kiss him back properly. She concentrated in moving her lips in synchrony with his; she tried to make it enjoyable for him. She really tried to do her best.

After a while, he stopped, and she was miserable and relieved at the same time. Miserable, because he surely had stopped for it had been a disappointment to him, relieved, because it hadn't been so great for her, either. She had liked Ron holding her and kissing her neck much more. But he grinned at her, amused.

"Hermione, it's not a test. Just let go, will you. I mean, I'm pretty sure this won't come up in the N.E.W.T.S."

Startled, she laughed aloud. Whether she laughed at her own silliness and nervousness, or at Ron's infectious grin, she didn't know, but she laughed, and then Ron kissed her again, and she forgot to concentrate on trying her best. He took her by surprise. His soft and warm and wet mouth came on her open one and his tongue slipped in and his hands were tangled in her bushy hair and his body was pressed against her and suddenly, she was kissing back with fervour and she could feel her own heart beating in her ears and even his hair was warm, he was radiating warmth all over, and he would surely keep her warm, too, if he replaced the magical hot-water bottle in her bed and she really shouldn't be thinking such thoughts when it was only their first kiss.

The tingle was back. Actually, it seemed to have brought some friends along. Hermione welcomed them happily. She might even offer them some tea and cakes, later. Happy tingles all over. Breathless, Ron and Hermione finally pulled apart and she hugged Ron and snuggled her head under his chin. His arms were wrapped around her and he hugged her back. She sighed contentedly. Lovely tingles, lovely Ron. And he would now have a good, acceptable reason to reject all the other girls who approached him. Lovely. She would still go to find that book about kissing, but maybe this was the one area she actually believed in learning by doing.

"Hermione?" His voice still sounded like he was out of breath and it pleased the tingles.

"Yes?"

"Can you loan me that book of yours?" For a moment she thought Ron meant the kissing-book and flushed, but then she realized he was asking for a book even more intimate.

"_Hogwarts, a History_?"

"Yeah." He sounded a bit embarrassed and reluctant, as if expecting her to laugh at him and say _I told you so_.

"I'd love to." That was all she said, and her voice was a gentle caress of a whisper.

For a moment, at two o'clock in the morning on Wednesday, 17th of February, Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire, the Head Girl of Hogwarts, felt truly, wholly, unnaturally happy.

Only for a moment, though. Later, she would start to wonder whether it had only been so good because it was her first real kiss; whether Ron and her really suited well together in the long run; whether sex could be properly learned by doing, or whether it would be very clumsy and awkward if Ron didn't know what to do, either; whether he _did_ know what to do and how _that_ couldn't have been just for a wish to be polite; whether he would want many children; whether she would want children at all; whether he was taking it as seriously as she was and even thinking about children; whether it was sensible to start a relationship during wartime in the first place; whether she ever wanted to be sensible again; whether Harry would approve; whether Ron's parents would approve; whether the Fat Lady would still try to cause trouble; whether Lavender and Parvati would laugh at her; whether her friendship with Ron would survive if their romance didn't…

Later, she would think about all of those issues, and more. After all, she was Hermione Granger. She wondered, pondered, reflected, analysed, processed, speculated and though over. But she would do that later. At the moment, she was concentrating on the tingles and had no time to think.

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**a/n: Well, all good things come to an end, and obviously all crap , too. That was the end. THE END. **How did this happen? I told you, truly, sincerely and honestly, that fluff isn't really my cup of tea, and what did I just write? Pages and pages of fluff, even kissing-kind of fluff. Oops. Sorry. But please, tell me how you liked it! I would really like to know, as I'm not sure myself. Somehow, I'm even pleased with this ending, and somehow I'm insecure**. I'd really like some opinions. I greatly appreciate also negative feedback.**

**About Ron**: I actually knew some guys in high school, who just went out with all the girls that asked, even when they actually didn't want to, just because they couldn't find a way to say no. It was probably partly for it was flattering to be asked out, too, but still, I sometimes found myself feeling pretty sorry for the poor blokes. I still don't imagine Ron as horribly experienced or anything, I guess most of his dates consisted of awkward walking around and a few kisses, if the girl initiated them ;)

**Many, many thanks for your reviews**! They have been quite lovely! I guess I'll be writing something else, someday, so I hope I'll "meet" you again, later. I might go back to my secrets-fic, which I like quite a bit, even though it doesn't seem to interest many others ;) In the meantime, if you haven't yet read "No Means to Use the Stove", I like that fic pretty much, even if I say so myself (shame on me!). The beta'ed version can be found in Checkmated.


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